


after hours

by dannyikigay



Series: after hours [1]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Depression, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Glitter, M/M, Mental Instability, Parties, Recreational Drug Use, Self-Harm, so much glitter
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-22
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-02-28 08:00:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 23,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22846789
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dannyikigay/pseuds/dannyikigay
Summary: “You can't say for certain that we'll meet each other again,” Allen muttered dreamily.“We will,” Tyki promised, and his voice sounded like a dazzling hallucination. It scared him. “I know.”
Relationships: Tyki Mikk/Allen Walker
Series: after hours [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2185413
Comments: 10
Kudos: 53





	1. smalltown boy

Allen. _Allen_. _Smile._  
  
Allen’s lips curled in a smile, face pressed against the glass of the bus-window. The city lights flashed before his eyes, grey clouds in the sky, car horns and laughs and radio hits and human noises, all fading in the train of Allen’s memories. Horrible memories, but dramatically beautiful. Where truths and illusions wandered at the back of Allen’s mind, signs to find in the way he blushed at a compliment, the ache in his bones or the numbness of his senses.  
  
But he had to carry on.  
  
He remembered Mana’s grace, the salt of tears sticking to his handsomely dishevelled face. He was tall, dark, and smelled of musk and citron and tea, melting in the scent of his cologne. He smiled. _Allen! Smile!_ He wept. _Allen! Put on a happy face!_ Then he laughed. Overflowing tears, thick and terrible and unstoppable. But Mana alternated between a crystalline laugh to a sick, piteous tantrum; still a smile lingered on his lips, broken and hurt and maniacal.  
  
_If you don’t smile the world will feel sorry for you!_ _  
__  
_ The bus was stuck in the traffic, pouring rain blurring the city outside the window. But Allen was looking at something else, eyelashes trembling delicately, the foil of a tear at the corner of his eye.  
  
Mana was dancing, twirling, humming, tapping his shoes against the cold asphalt. _If you don’t smile no one will love you!_ He cried. He smiled. Wide, almost splitting the corners of his mouth. Allen ran after him, dragging himself with his tiny body and slender legs and bruised knees. Mana had rushed in the train station, running and dancing and singing. _Mana!_ Allen called out. Lost, the man turned with a violence that made Allen fear he could’ve cracked his neck. Eyes squinted open, empty.  
  
**_The train is coming._** ** _  
_****_  
_**_Mana!_  
  
Mana fell on the rails. _  
__  
__Look, Allen! I’m acting! Allen, Allen, Allen!_ _  
__  
__...Who are you?_  
  
Squeezing his eyes shut, Allen took a deep breath, glad to realise that no one was sitting next to him. If anyone ever asked how he was he wasn’t sure he’d find words to say. What should he have said, anyway? That he had open-eyed dreams of a mentally ill man, that he missed him, that he wanted to be a different person? Would someone really help? Oh. No. Allen rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand, following another path of wonders. Everyone was the same. Especially the people he met in rehab. Temporary comforts. Shaking hands, swallowing thousands medicines for one pill he had bound himself to take. Thanking the lord for being alive, which seemed so abstract and nonsensical to him. There were moments where he felt eternal, others where the demon of decay crept under his skin and poisoned his throat.  
  
Eventually, he came back. He hopped down the bus and got drenched and he was tired - no, exhausted - and dirty and drowsy but he had to walk home, which normally took five minutes but they felt like hours. And when he unlocked the door his flat was quiet and grey. And nowhere to actually return to. And nobody. Only the softness of his mattress and the pile of sheets to pull up his head, phone in his hands and million thoughts on his mind of all the ways his next day could go wrong.  
  
Throwing his suitcase somewhere on the floor, Allen changed into his pyjama and dropped into his bed, thirsty and hungry but too tired to endure the cold and too lazy to even consider getting up. It was still _bearable_ , because the absolute worst was when he needed to pee but didn’t want to leave bed. Fearing that he’d meet an assassin by the door, or that he’d stumble upon something and die on the floor. Or, that he’d _finally_ reach the bathroom and find himself _yearning_ for a single Xanax bar. Just one. Really. Fuck rehab. Fuck Cross’s intimations to get better and start a new chapter.   
  
Mana was gone. He was in another _place._  
  
Mana was insane.  
  
And Allen was alone, and his house was colourless like the room Mana was withering into; washed grey, just the hours ticking away without notice. Just his skin, dehydrated and cold, dissipated into the numbness of an hospital bed. His stare was empty and his soul was bleeding, and all he muttered was not Allen’s name. It was not Allen.  
  
He didn’t want to think about it.  
  
So Allen stashed himself under the covers, just a pair of white strands peeking out the barrier he’d wrapped himself into. Ignoring Lavi’s texts, Lenalee’s sweet words, Johnny or anyone that said they cared for him. But really, it wasn’t because he didn’t want to chat with them. It wasn’t because he didn’t love them. He didn’t know why. But typing felt exhausting. Listening was stressful. Laughing was painful. He’d rather watch stupid cat videos and have a blank face and hope he’d die in his sleep, scroll through the comments and realise how senseless mankind was. And like that, his life was a sadistic joke. He was torn between feeling victimized or profoundly offended. One second he was hit by the realisation that worse things happened on Earth than some 18-year-old’s drama, and the other second he reasoned that he really, _really_ felt like dying. His days merged into one another until they lost their significance. One time Allen felt at fault, the other he blamed the system. Or the existence of drugs in the first place. Or his greediness. His poor self-control. Or the capitalism. He couldn’t find an answer that could momentarily muffle the turmoil of his mind.  
  
And naturally, his thoughts came to the conclusion that he would never fall in love.  
  
So he slipped out of bed and his bare feet were on the cold tiles, his eyes trying to grasp sight of _something_ in the obscurity of his room. His head was spinning, the corners of his mouth stretched into a nervous smile. A sense of relief mixed into a sorrowful guilt snaked within, but in the end he didn’t want to make good choices.  
  
He went into his bathroom, turned the lights on with shivering fingers. Pulling the drawer open, fumbled nervously for the bottle of pills. Mouth twisted in a grimace, Allen wrapped his fingers around it, tightly, shoved the index to grasp the last one. Brought it to his mouth, swallowed it with a loud noise, then decided to open the water and fill the bathtub. He knew he wasn’t going to sleep.  
  
He tried to avoid looking at himself in the mirror as he stripped, but part of him wanted to feel disgust all the same. Tucking off his pyjama, his reflection showed him the deep cuts on his left wrist. They were red, long, blistered lines. Allen smiled to himself, crooked and waspish, and ran his fingers across the wounds. They didn’t sting. They provided a source of colour to his ghostly complexion.  
  
There was no reason to be dramatic. He liked the pain. He liked that it distracted him from thinking about Mana.  
  
While he waited to fill the tub, Allen went back to his room to pick his cigarettes and his favourite red lighter. Completely naked, he eyed himself from head to waist in the mirror. His hip was skinny, his belly was thin. He was going to be okay, wasn’t he? Allen buried his body into the tub, sank his head into the water and ceased to breathe for a while. Emerging with a loud gasp, Allen took the cigarette and placed it between his lips, struck the lighter and set the edge aflame. The smoke filled the room, something tangible for him to feel throughout that cumbersome silence.  
  
He was naked and he was _horrible._  
  
Too slim and his legs were reduced to bones and he was athletic, yes, but he was ugly and too pale and Allen hated himself. Couldn’t process the idea that someone would fuck him, even if every guy at college were basically his one-night stands.  
  
_Maybe they are desperate,_ Allen reassured himself, because why would they ever want to touch his scarred body?  
  
Allen blew the smoke through parted lips. Leaned his head against the ceramic edge of the tub, looked up at the white ceiling. Looked down at his chest, tapped the filter of the cigarette and let the ashes crumble on his torso. Extinguished the burning cigarette on his rib until it left a sign on him, numbed down by the flow of the water. It didn’t hurt very much.  
  
The pill was kicking in but it didn’t matter. Allen was happy. It was the last time. He’d stop one day. Just one more pill. It wasn’t coke. It wasn’t meth, it was just a pill.  
  
He was fine.  
  
He felt like a failure.  
  
He was fine.  
  
(✽)  
  
Allen had missed his friends. They were kind, intelligent, affectionate, and always better than him. It didn’t matter how. It happened to be like that. Strangers had more qualities. Lavi was cunning and attractive. Lenalee was a talented dancer. Kanda was- well, not exactly the type of person to idolise, but he was _someone._ A man with a strong personality. Blunt and precipitous and painfully sincere. He could be horrid, but he still _had_ something Allen was persuaded that he lacked. 

But it was fine. He wanted them to be happy. Because if they were happy they could give something to the world and to themselves.  
  
What he didn’t miss was the intolerable fuss of people at classes, the way someone would bump against his shoulder and demand an apology, the way everyone would _murmur_ and scoff and call him names because ‘Allen Walker used to be every teacher’s pet, it turns out to be that he’s a drug addict. And a slut’. Oh. Those weren’t lies, really. However, Allen’s query was simple.  
  
_Why does it matter? Does it make them feel powerful, ethical, superior?_ _  
_ _  
_ As he meditated whether he should have headed back home, he saw his best friend running for his direction with a joyful smile and flushed cheeks, arms stretched wide and emerald eye sparkling in youthful freshness. In a matter of seconds he was enclosed into Lavi’s embrace, warm and scented and _human._ He had risked to forget how Lavi’s hugs felt like. He hadn’t expected nothing less than Lavi squeezing him into his arms, reminding him that he could still _feel,_ that he mattered to someone. Allen sighed softly, eyelashes fluttering shut as he breathed in his best friend’s smell of sweat and citron and something overwhelmingly masculine.  
  
“I missed you so much,” Lavi said, tangling his fingers through the white hair at the base of Allen’s neck. There was the trace of a laugh in his voice as he went, “and I know you’d rather skip this particular class because only God knows how much you _hate_ this school and your only wish is to have fun and avoid troubles.”  
  
Allen tilted his head and let out a wholehearted laugh, his friend’s arms still keeping him safe. “You know me.”  
  
“I do,” Lavi agreed proudly, a mischievous, adventurous smile stretching the corners of his lips. “So you’re coming with me and we’re having a cigarette, and you’re gonna _relax._ ”  
  
“ _Of course_ you want trouble,” Allen retorted, smiling genuinely when Lavi captured his hand into his, laced their fingers together and dragged him in the boys’ restrooms, pushed him unapologetically into one of the stalls - their favourite, the one with the writings and the stupid sexual drawings - and _laughed._  
  
“We’ve done worse things,” Lavi reminded, leaning against the stained tiles. He fetched his packet of cigarettes and put one between his pink lips, extremely relaxed. Allen pressed his back against the wall, standing in front of him with their gaze melting into one another, carrying an outstanding complicity, a wholesome affection.  
  
Lavi lit his cigarette, then shoved one into Allen’s mouth. They took the first drag together, smiling around the filter and staring at each other, senselessly. Eventually Allen was the one to laugh first, looking away to let it wane and therefore allow him to properly enjoy his cigarette. He wasn’t supposed to smoke, or do anything similarly addictive. But the paradox was that tobacco had no effect on him - he hated it, most of the time. He hated it when it triggered a memory of Cross. And it wasn’t enough to kill him. Drugs were mysterious. Drugs were _destructive._  
  
“So, uhm,” Lavi breathed out the smoke through parted lips, tapping the filter to let the ashes crumble in the toilet. His voice was low, poised. Careful. “How are you?”  
  
Hollowing his cheeks, Allen sucked in the smoke, letting it filtrate through his lungs. He let the question hang between them, thinking of the many ways he could answer that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot. Or a victim. Until he grinned and settled on, “Still alive. Still salty. Still _humorous,_ ” laughing quietly, “I think that’s enough.”  
  
“I wouldn’t want you to lose your sarcasm, really,” Lavi countered, gesturing in the air with the cigarette between his fore and middle finger. “And that?” Lavi said, taking another lungful of smoke. “How was it?” he turned in circles, eye softening when he whispered, “rehab.”  
  
“Oh,” Allen gasped, lips twitching nervously. They were pulled in a smile, muscles strained. “It was…” _useless._ “Fine, I guess? Everyone was nice.” His gaze was attracted to an indistinct point on the floor, mouth forming a tireless smile. “I felt closer to Mana, I think.”  
  
Thanks to Lavi, because he was his best friend and he was _special,_ smart and considerate, Allen forced himself to look into his eye and wipe away that smile, hearing Lavi say, “do you want to talk about it?”  
  
And Allen shook his head in denial, because Lavi didn’t deserve to feel bad for him.  
  
“Anyway,” Lavi cheered, tossing the cigarette in the toilet, “we were all worried for you. Even Yu, can you imagine? He was implicitly asking us about you and stuff, like ‘I want to punch that beansprout’ or I’d find him looking at your seat, all sad and lost.”  
  
“Are you sure you’re not making this up?” Allen arched a brow, pressing his lips around the filter to let the last drag flow in completely, down his throat and into his body. “I know for a fact he is still an insufferable asshole,” Allen said. He hesitated for a moment, and finally admitted, “but hot.”  
  
“No, really. You should date him,” Lavi insisted, squinting his eye wide in crazed fervency. He crossed his hands beside his head, a fox-like grin blooming across his face.  
  
“What? No,” Allen rolled his eyes. “He’s too aggressive.”  
  
Lavi wiggled his eyebrows, forcing an amused laugh to slip past Allen’s lips. “You like _that_ in your men, I know that. Don’t deny it. Soft baby-face in the streets, freak in the sheets.”  
  
“Oh god,” Allen gasped, torn between laughing _hard_ or slapping himself for thinking that it was absolutely _true_ , “would you please _stop_?”  
  
“Not now. Not ever,” Lavi giggled, coming close to pull Allen into another hug. “I’m glad you’re back, really.”  
  
“And I’m glad you’re still a dumbass,” Allen snickered, stretching out his tongue in mockery.  
  
“Be careful. You might not fall for an aggressive man, but you might fall for a dumbass,” Lavi warned, all too confident and know-it-all.  
  
Allen rested his head against Lavi’s chest, listening to the gentle cadence of his heartbeat. “Let’s hope it’s not you,” eyes shut, he gave in to an evident drowsiness, the lack of rest weighing over him all in one and out of a sudden.  
  
“Hey, don’t fall asleep. I have to go,” Lavi said, gently shaking his shoulders. Allen mumbled something and squeezed his eyes open, pulling away from Lavi’s strong hold. Lavi buried a hand through his hair, ruffling it affectionately. “Will you join me?”  
  
“Just a few minutes,” Allen said with a smile, a pair of stray white strands brushing his forehead. “Okay?”  
  
“Okay,” Lavi leaned down to press a kiss to his cheek. A sly grin twisting his mouth, yet unbearable fondness lingering in his eye, “Take all the time you need. Jerk off or something.”  
  
“Stupid dork,” Allen laughed loud, pushing Lavi off himself and out the stall, his smile softer and natural and healthy. He could still hear Lavi chuckle as he locked himself in, staring at the total emptiness and letting his smile fade progressively, the trace of strain and ache settling at his cheekbones.

There was a twitch in his left eye as his temples throbbed, head heavy, breath short. Allen grabbed the handle and walked out the stall, placing his hands on the sink. Looking at himself in the mirror, he noticed the lines that were drawn around his eyes and the opacity of his skin. Dehydrated, and not as plump as it used to be. But he was young. He wasn’t _ugly._  
  
He was pathetic.  
  
_I am pathetic,_ Allen thought. Staring at himself in the mirror, diving deep in the darkness of his soul. The voices of his demons were redundant and perentory and Allen was nothing but the host of his own body, bound to listen and assimilate and _learn_ . Learn that he wasn’t valid, that he meant nothing. That all he managed to do was cause hurt to people he loved. That he was good for nothing, _that_ his suffering was the consequence of his worthlessness.  
  
The vein at his temple twitched horribly as Allen punched the sink, making for a way out and into literally anywhere else expect a place where he could gaze at his rotten self. But as he opened the door Kanda stepped in, a surprised look on his beautiful face. Allen took a few steps backwards, caged in the cramped space of the restroom and standing in front of his most intimidating weird-kind-of-friend.  
  
Kanda clicked his tongue, running a hand through his hair to brush it out his eyes. “You’re back, beansprout. You look like shit,” was his loving _welcome back,_ lips curled in an annoying sneer.  
  
“Thank you, really,” Allen gave a sickeningly sweet smile, tucking his hair behind his ear as he looked at Kanda, narrow-eyed and challenging. “And I notice with much delight that you’ve not changed. Oh, and that you seem to forget that my name is Allen.”  
  
“Yeah. Whatever. All I can see is a stupid beansprout with bags under his eyes,” Kanda observed, scathing and frank. But there was something different in the way he looked at Allen, something vaguely suave. _Agonising._ Allen hated that it felt like being pitied.  
  
“Then don’t look in my direction if it bothers you,” Allen rebutted venomously, tearing his gaze off Kanda to lead it somewhere else. From where he wasn’t looking at him, Allen sensed some sort of reluctance, the insecurity in the cadence of Kanda’s breath.  
  
Kanda murmured, “do you know what pisses me off?” as he approached Allen, taking Allen’s chin into his hand. Allen tilted his head to the side, looking up at Kanda through his lashes in conscious coquettishness.  
  
“Your smile. The way you fucking try to please everyone and pretend you’re this necessary hero,” Kanda stated, thumb stroking Allen’s plush lower lip, eyes severe and firm. “Just be your fucking self and call for help when you need it.”  
  
Scoffing, Allen pressed a kiss to Kanda’s thumb. “You’re one to talk,” he whispered seductively, wrapping his fingers around Kanda’s wrist to move his hand away. “What do you want?”  
  
Groaning, Allen was pushed against the wall by Kanda’s strong hands, his mouth assaulting his in a hot, lascivious kiss, tongues swirling across one another in a wordless, heated struggle. Allen’s fingers grasped Kanda’s face possessive enough to bruise, while Kanda’s hands were around Allen’s wrists and above his head, lips warm and slick as they clashed and slid and moved together. Allen reached behind his neck to pull Kanda’s ponytail, pressing him against himself for a deeper kiss, noses bumping, teeth biting lips and tongues and Allen’s moans dying into Kanda’s mouth, so sweet and dirty and voluntarily seductive. As Kanda fucked his mouth with his tongue, Allen made for the handle of the door behind himself, dragging Kanda in and avoiding the risk of getting caught on his first day of college after months of rehab.  
  
And Kanda buried his fingers through Allen’s hair, yanking it, pulling it, making Allen’s scalp ache. Allen stretched out his tongue to let Kanda suck the tip of it, half-lidded eyes crossing the other’s fiery stare, the way he would buck his hips against Allen’s body and make their crotches rub together in the most satisfactory friction. “Fuck,” Kanda muttered as Allen palmed his cock, chewing on his lip and catching his lips in another kiss, exchanging saliva and liquids and savouring the taste.  
  
“You’re so fucking sexy when you look like this,” Kanda whispered into his mouth, squishing Allen’s cheek in the grip of his hand. “Without masks. Kissing me like you fucking mean it,” he went on, inhaling deep through his nostrils as he pressed a bruising kiss to Allen’s swollen lips, “fighting back. You’re a fucking mess.”  
  
Allen exhaled a breathless laugh, pulling Kanda in to suck his tongue between his lips, then slid it across his, clinging onto his broad shoulders. “Look at yourself,” he replied, taking Kanda’s hand off his face to lick his forefinger, “you’re the one who’s a mess. You’re an animal,” and he took it into his mouth, moaning like a slut in heat, then parted with a slick noise, “fuck my mouth with your cock. You know I can take it. I can take it as much as you want,” and he smiled, kissing Kanda’s lips, short, pink nails scratching Kanda’s shoulders, “maybe you’ll realise that I’m not so fucking fragile.”  
  
Sneering, Kanda yanked Allen’s hair into his fist, forcing him to sink down to his knees. “This is what you’re into,” he said, zipping his fly open to reveal a massive, pulsating erection into the cage of his black boxers. “You want to feel like a slut, because that’s the only way you can feel alive,” so much _anger,_ and Allen wanted him to unleash it to him. So he pulled his underwear down his muscular thighs and moaned at the sight of his dick, mouth watering, arousal creeping down his abdomen, sending sparkles of pleasure at the base of his crotch.  
  
_You want to feel like a slut._ He did, he did, he did - he _was_ a slut. That was the only way he could act. It was fun, most of the time. Other times, it became quite lonely. But it didn’t matter, not when Kanda bared his long dick in front of him and he took it into his hands, gluing his lips to the tip in filthy, damp smooches, the way Kanda liked it, wanted it, deserved it. It was empowering. Because he was the one in control, and he was the one Kanda had missed. And although it wasn’t love, Allen had copious amounts of adoration to give to his perfect body, as he massaged his length and flicked his tongue on his slit. Kanda grabbed the edge of his t-shirt, raising it above his belly, and with his unoccupied hand he pushed Allen’s scalp against his erection. Allen opened up, letting his tongue dance across his skin, stretching his throat wide to take him to the base and _suck,_ slow and methodical and good.  
  
Mouth stretched in a cocky smile around Kanda’s cock, Allen fondled his balls while he bobbed his head repeatedly, sucking and licking and _loving_ how it filled his throat, how it bulged so obscenely, how _useful_ he felt. But as he knew that it wasn’t enough to satisfy him, Allen let his cock slide past his lips and purred, provocative, “with all your threats I thought you were going to fuck me stupid. But it’s going smoothly,” licking his lips, a hot wave permeated him as Kanda gripped his hair, “where’s your violence?”  
  
“Fuck you. You’ll regret even asking,” Kanda slapped Allen’s hand away from his balls and went to tangle his fingers through his fringe, “ _I_ lead,” he grunted, as he pushed past Allen’s lips and began thrusting into his throat. Allen smiled victoriously, mouth agape to welcome Kanda’s unfaltering thrusts, the salt of his precum staining his tongue, mixed into his spit.  
  
For once, he could let Kanda think he was the one in control. That he was owning every part of Allen, punishing him for being a greedy, uncontrollable slut. And every guy was the same. They fucked Allen’s mouth and used him and claimed him, and Allen played along. But in the end he was the one that made them come with his tongue, that could innerly laugh at how ecstatic they looked when they reached their climax. In every way, it was a pitiful facade.  
  
But Kanda fucked fast and wild and Allen took every inch of it, trying not to suffocate around his length, nose shoved against his coarse hairs, taking in his intimate smell. It was a good distraction, one that would remind that he still had human impulses or that he was eager to be controlled, taken, manhandled and _brutalised_ into stupefaction.  
  
A deep, guttural groan left Kanda’s lips as he released his load into Allen’s mouth, thick drops sticking to his tongue. Allen collected it into his mouth, wiggled his tongue for Kanda to see and chuckled, sensually, swallowing it into his sore throat. Kanda didn’t give him the time to relax his jaw that he pulled him back on his feet and kissed his mouth with an almost apologetic tenderness. Allen laughed into the kiss, smoothing a gentle hand across Kanda’s cheek. Kanda’s hand sneaked between their bodies to cup Allen’s neglected cock, so hasty and hungry and _violent,_ rolling his thumb on the tip and kissing him again, again, again.  
  
“Touch me,” Allen whined, and Kanda buried his head in the crook of his neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to his sensitive skin as his hand slipped into his pants, caressing, stroking, grabbing. Allen let his eyes slip closed and threw his head back, filling his mind of nothing but the way Kanda felt him up, nothing but the sex and the pleasure and all the things Allen wasn’t addicted to.  
  
(✽)

Allen hated parties.  
  
Not his company, because Lavi and Lenalee and Alma were fun and found new things to say in every occasion, interesting facts, laughs and smiles. Not the blinding lights, shades of blue and purple and pink flashing by, shifting from something dazzling into a suffused blur.  
  
He hated the way they made him feel. He loved the idea of mundanity, but not the consequences it brought. All the convenient smiles, the forced socialisation. Too much sweat, guys that would slip their hands into his pants without his consent and finger him on the dance floor, jocks that would mock him and his friends and too much _alcohol_ in a situation where he should have abstained from everything remotely hallucinative.

He knew he was young, and that his youth wasn’t meant to be wasted away. After all, attending a party was always better than being caged in the silence of his room, watching stupid videos and the pictures of those that made their Saturday night into unforgettable memories. So he went, and it was partly Lavi’s fault. He said he needed to check on him, repeated that they had missed him so much, that he deserved to have fun once in a while and erase all the bad thoughts that haunted his anxious mind. Allen had shrugged and had prepared himself in a relatively short amount of time. Casual, really, but Lavi had said that he looked _stunning_. Allen didn’t believe him. But he felt _better_. Pink, glittery eyeshadow brightening his silver eyes, oversized pink hoodie, denim shorts that exposed half his ass - and Chuck Taylor at his feet.  
  
Lavi and Allen entered in a wide apartment, bottles of beer and vodka rolling on the floor, a coffee table at the centre of the room, too many people talking and laughing and making out. Someone was swallowing down a purple liquid from a tumbler; a jock had shoved his girl against the wall and started feeling her up in front of everyone and specifically for everyone to see.  
  
Electronic music. Flashing lights. Blue, first glimmering, then shading, first illuminating a trait of Lavi’s face, then concealing the sparkle of his green eye. They elongated on the walls, flickering briefly, slowly, then rapidly, imperceptible. Allen was the one to drag Lavi to the dance floor, intertwining his arms besides his neck as he pressed their noses together. His hips moved suavely, Lavi following his rhythm. Twirling into his embrace, Allen immersed himself to the beat of the music - dreamy, visionary, deafening. He could barely hear what Lavi said, but his hands were at his waist and his eyes slipped closed, his back arching delightfully as he moved, writhed, spinned on the floor.  
  
“It really looks like we’re together,” Allen laughed, crystalline, turning around to match Lavi and lose his laughter into his, their hips moving at the same pace.  
  
“Is that a way to tell me you’d like me to be your boyfriend?” Lavi joked, hand at Allen’s skinny waist to lead him into the dance, “aw, Al. I thought dumbasses were not your type.”  
  
“Only for tonight,” Allen chuckled, his charming grin mirroring the one that painted Lavi’s face, strangely wide as the blue lights hit him. Lavi took his wrist and made him spin, so completely uncoordinated and unfitting to that sort of song that Allen laughed tenderly. An androgynous boy with red lips emerged in the dark, inducing a smile to twist Allen’s lips, “hey, is that Alma?”  
  
Lavi looked exactly where Allen’s finger was pointing at. “Yes! And that one is Lena,” their dance waned and, hands held, they approached their friends with big smiles on their faces. Lena frowned sweetly as she immediately slung her arms around Allen, familiar and comforting. “I missed you so much. I want you to be good from now on,” she murmured, pulling away to look into his eyes. Allen scratched the back of his head, finding himself into Alma’s arms instead. “I’m sorry,” he smiled apologetically, patting Alma’s back, “I’m better. I promise.”  
  
Alma let him go, beautifully painted lips pulled in a reassuring smile. “Call us when you need help! You’re not alone!” he puffed up his cheeks, hands clenched into fists in his caring fervor. His words sounded awfully similar to what Kanda said. _Just be your fucking self and call for help when you need it._ Well, their manners differed, but the meaning was the same. Allen knew Kanda and Alma nurtured some kind of obligation towards him for the times he helped them make up, but really. They didn’t need to. Allen was able to handle himself.  
  
“I’m gonna get some drinks,” Allen said. Lena’s brows were pinched tight in an impossible frown that Allen feared she was about to snap at any second.  
  
“You shouldn’t drink,” she retorted softly, worry darkening her irises.  
  
“I didn’t say _I_ was going to drink, Lena. I’m going to get _you_ all some drinks,” he corrected, smiling sweetly at his friend with insistent tenderness. “Don’t be so worried! I’m fine. I was...dancing with Lavi. I’m having fun. I’m better,” he went on and threw a glance at Lavi, who nodded and placed a hand atop Lena’s shoulder with the intent to relax her, “bad stuff happens and we move on. I’m here, still smiling. I’m better, and I’ve missed you all so much.”  
  
“Allen…” Alma whispered, rubbing his cheek against Allen’s shoulder affectionately. “I trust you. _We_ trust you.”  
  
Eventually, Lena’s shoulder dropped and she let out a sigh. “I trust you. Will you get us some drinks, then?”  
  
Allen laughed, pivoting on his heel to make his way through the crowd. The lights flashed on and off at the beat of the song. Allen’s reflexes were slower, his vision slightly tarnished. He made for the counter, looking over his shoulder to check that his friends weren’t looking at him, so that he could pour tequila into a glass and gulp it in one shot. _Just one_ , he thought. _Just one just one just one._  
  
It burned him from within. Allen scoffed, pouring himself another glass. Swallowing it in one take, just so he could feel it penetrate his body and set his nerves on fire, the thrill he needed to lose his control and have fun. _Just one. It will never happen again._ _  
__  
__Who are you trying to fool, Allen?_ _  
__  
_ Sighing, Allen filled three tumblers and made for his friends. Lena seemed definitely relieved and Lavi draped an arm around his shoulder, laughing wholeheartedly as he drank his tequila. Alma snatched the tumbler from Allen’s fingers, eyeing the liquid nervously as though he were analysing its chemical structure. In a second, he drank it down and they were closed into a group hug, all combining into one messy, imprecise dance. Then they parted and divided into couples, Alma and Lena improvising techniques, Lavi and Allen giggling at each other as they moved, their hands at each other’s waist.  
  
From a spot beyond Lavi’s shoulder, the blue lights flashed on the dark skin and the black, thick curls of a handsome stranger. He was smoking a cigarette, shaping circles of smoke in the air as he parted his lips, eyes scanning every detail of the room. Allen found himself staring at him. At his white shirt, and the way it framed the line of his muscular chest. Or his lips and how he put them around the cigarette, a smug smirk across the filter as _nothing_ seemed to reach or bother him. Lost in a distant contemplation, detaching himself from the fuss of sweat and kisses and laughs.  
  
“What are you looking at?” Lavi distracted him, sliding his hand up and down Allen’s skinny spine.  
  
“A guy. He is hot and I want to talk to him. Like,” Allen grabbed Lavi’s shoulders, “turn around. Look at him. The one with the curls and the cigarette.”  
  
A grin spread across Lavi’s lips as he turned around, trying to catch the frame of the man Allen was talking about. Raising his voice above the volume of the music, “I don’t see anybody with curls and a cigarette.”  
  
“Uh?” Allen looked in his previous direction and realised that yes, Lavi was right. The man was not there anymore, no trace left of his well-built body and handsomely exotic face. Allen peered somewhere else, patiently looking for a glimpse of something that suggested it was him. Lavi’s eye was equally attentive as he looked around himself. And to Allen it felt like an hallucination. A vivid one, really. And a beautiful one at that.  
  
_Whatever._ _  
__  
_ “Well, okay. Now I’m imagining things,” Allen joked, letting out a breathless laugh. “It’s not like we can find him, there are too many people,” he mused, voice dropping low, “and for a moment I thought I could have get laid tonight.”  
  
“So thirsty!” Lavi exclaimed, leading Allen in the dance they had momentarily abandoned. “You’re dancing with your ultra-attractive best friend, and you complain?”  
  
“I wouldn’t call it a complaint,” Allen replied, eyelashes flickering lightly as he purred, “a need, really.”  
  
“Okay, okay,” Lavi said, cupping Allen’s face into both hands, “you’re gonna look for him and steal his heart. I’m gonna dance with Alma and Lena and play truth or dare. We’re gonna reunite in two hours,” he held back a laugh, “the time it takes to conquer him and get thoroughly fucked. We good?”  
  
“Totally,” Allen laughed, waving a hand in Lavi’s direction as he walked his way out the dance floor without a specific destination in mind. He wasn’t going to look for that stranger. He just...needed to breathe. He wanted to be alone for a while, recollect his thoughts and breathe. At his left, a group of students from his class was cutting white lines on the glass table, bills tightly rolled up. One by one, they leant down to snort it through the paper, tiny white powder disappearing from where it had been cut. Allen swallowed around the lump in his throat, sweat dripping down his forehead. His mouth went dry, throat blazing. Nostrils flaring, reminiscent of _that_ peculiar sensation of sniffing cocaine up to his head, prickling his eyes to tears. His heart, priorly steady, started to race and thump in the cage of his chest, poisonous obsession dizzying his mind, leading him to the best source of pain and the worst harbinger of pleasure.  
  
_Not again. Not again not again not again._ _  
__  
__You have worked so hard to get rid of it._ _  
__  
_ Allen tightened his hand into fists, nails digging into his skin. _  
__  
__But is it really gone?_ _  
__  
_ He stood motionless, staring at them and their bills and their unconscious enthusiasm.  
  
_One last time. One last time, and it will never happen again._ _  
__  
_ Allen rushed into the bathroom; it was empty and the music thumped from outside, muffled and distant. Allen fumbled into the pocket of his shorts, grasping the tiny plastic bag; shoving his fingers inside, he smeared the white powder on the sink and reached into his back pocket for a bill, then rolled it up with surgical precision, breaths heavy and hasteful. Flipping his hair back, Allen bent down and aligned the dollar at the right angle, so he could snort it until there was no trace left. In a second, it poisoned his system again. No one would notice, really. His deed was fraught with a tragic irony. Of how he’d ruin months of efforts and sacrifices, of how he’d betray everyone’s trust for his mere egotism. Did he need cocaine to remind himself that he couldn’t be happy? That he was useless, that he was wrecked and pathetic and insalvable like Cross?  
  
His chest heaved and fell progressively faster, an inner pulsation scraping his lungs and gripping his throat, depriving him of air. _What have you done._ He knew he’d relapse, that it would never get better - that the rehab centre was a miserable farce and that no one could truly escape their demons.  
  
When he was sure that at least no one was assisting his disgusting misery, the same dark-skinned stranger walked out one of the stalls and looked at Allen through the reflection in the mirror. Allen’s eyelids were sparkling with glitter and his voice was cut, raspy, in search for something sensate to say.  
  
“Are you okay, boy?” the man asked with a voice like melted butter or mulled wine, or something sweeter than honey.  
  
“Yes, of-of course,” Allen said, smiling, hands tight on the sink. “Really,” then he gestured vaguely, “if you want molly, I just, huh, snorted it all up.”  
  
“Nah, just got high in the toilet before you came in,” Tyki smiled, and Allen noticed the way he breathed and was immediately convinced.  
  
“Oh,” Allen breathed, tried to look sane when he really, really couldn’t stand to be in a close space anymore.  
  
“You look feverish,” the stranger said, burying his hands into his pockets. “I think you should get some air. You don’t want your friends to find your dead body in the toilet and blame me, right?”  
  
“Really, I’m fine-” but he was hyperventilating and he wanted to punch himself in the face or maybe break the mirror into million shards and cut himself but he really didn’t want to make a scene at a party and mess up everyone’s night.  
  
The man gave him a condescending look and a gentle hand tugged the sleeve of Allen’s large hoodie, leading him away from the confusion and outside the club. His curls were thick and slick, and the blue lights tinged his skin of different nuances of hazelnut. When they went outside a fresh brush of wind caressed Allen’s cheek and suddenly Allen saw clear, adjusting to the calm sound of the cars driving down the highway and the sight of that stranger’s smile.  
  
“Why, uh,” Allen leaned against the wall, gazing up at the cloudless sky, then tilted his head to look at him and found himself enraptured in the gold of his eyes, “why are you helping me?”  
  
The man scoffed, lighting himself another cigarette. His lips, so irresistibly plush, seemed to be shaped for the filter, and his fingers, long and elegant, held it with lazy care. “Couldn’t ignore a pretty boy like you,” he said charmingly, a cat-like grin settling at his lips, “besides, this party feels absolutely boring to me.”  
  
Evaluating his words, Allen nodded. “Kind of,” he agreed, pulling his sleeves past his wrists as a cold shiver ran down his spine. “Does it feel better out here?”  
  
“I don’t know, boy. Does it?” the man chuckled, placing the cigarette between his lips for a deep drag. Allen noticed how his firm, sharp cheeks hollowed as he breathed in the smoke, something inherently masculine in the way he held the cigarette. “For a moment I thought you were having fun with your redhead friend.”  
  
“How do you know?” Allen asked.  
  
“I’ve watched you dance,” the stranger admitted, low and sensual. He breathed the smoke in Allen’s direction, then curled his lips in a smile. “Sort of thought he was your boyfriend.”  
  
“What, Lavi? Oh. No. Yeah, I was just having fun with him.”  
  
“Then why did you stop, boy?”  
  
“I don’t know,” Allen murmured. “There comes a certain point where you have fun but you don’t think it’s gonna last, and there’s too much noise in your head and in your ears that you have to be alone for a second. Where everything irritates you.”  
  
“But the moment passes. The fun ends,” the man said. “And later on you think of all the possibilities and all the ways your night could’ve gone. Worse or better, but you’d never know.”  
  
“Please,” Allen rolled his eyes, laughing. “I have never been good at these things.”  
  
“Neither I. How old are you, boy?”  
  
Allen batted his eyelashes, snatching the cigarette from the man’s dark fingers. He let out an amused laugh, softly biting his lower lip. “How old do you want me to be?”  
  
“Old enough to be having this conversation,” the dark-haired stranger responded, smiling slyly. Allen felt the damp ghost of the mysterious stranger’s lips around the filter as he took the tobacco in, indulging in its warmth. “Seventeen.”  
  
“Eighteen,” Allen corrected, smirking seductively as the man had his cigarette back, half-consumed.  
  
“I was fooled by your height,” he grinned cheekily, arching a black brow at him.  
  
Allen’s face was in flames as he tapped his foot on the floor and grunted, “hey! I’m still growing!”  
  
“Just joking, boy,” the man’s laughter faded softly, “and how old do you think I am?”  
  
“Not interested,” Allen looked away, arms crossed at his chest and lips twisted into a fake pout when he so desperately tried to hold back the laugh that threatened to fall past his lips.  
  
“Aw, come on, boy. It was a joke.”  
  
“Let’s see,” Allen grinned. “Old enough to be bored at a party but younger than you think you look.”  
  
“And so? What’s your take?”  
  
“Thirty,” Allen said.  
  
“Twenty-nine,” the man corrected, and seemed extremely pleased to do so.  
  
As he looked at him, Allen thought that twenty-nine was an age that suited him. His features were mature and his attitude was lax and controlled. Twenty-nine meant also ten years older than him, and Allen discovered he was incredibly intrigued by that.  
  
“Oh. You look older.”  
  
“That’s rude of you to say, boy. But it sounds like you’re feeling better.”  
  
“Yeah, I am.” But the cocaine was getting to his head and he wanted to laugh, wanted to smile and dance and do all the things he wasn’t able to do but was caught appreciating his face instead, his golden eyes and plump lips, or his Adam’s apple and his shoulders and his chest and his neck and- _god_.  
  
“What’s your name, boy?”  
  
“Allen.”  
  
“Allen,” the man repeated, as if tasting the letters on the tip of his tongue. “Tyki.”  
  
“Tyki,” Allen said, rolling his tongue in coquettish invitation.“I bet we look like two maniacs outside this club.”  
  
“I am perfectly sober,” Tyki grinned. “And for once in my life I’m glad I am. I kind of don’t want to forget your name.”  
  
Allen’s lips parted softly. _Oh._ “I am _not_ sober but I’m going to remember everything.”  
  
“You win this time,” Tyki chuckled. “Just because we’re high. But next time we’re gonna be clean and see if we still look like maniacs.”  
  
Allen looked up at the sky and laughed in abandon. “You’re right. At least we dropped out that shitty party and now are here talking about nonsensical stuff.”  
  
“I mean,” Tyki said, “isn’t that the fun part? Leave them to dance and talk to someone at 2 am. You might elaborate something utterly philosophical.”  
  
“Or just shit,” Allen retorted.  
  
“Or just shit,” Tyki repeated.  
  
Tyki dropped the cigarette, and Allen pursed his lips, blowing a lock of hair out his face. “I think I want to dance,” he whispered, unnaturally energetic, clinging to the fading trace of euphoria in his high brain to exhibit a strange forwardness, “come.”  
  
Without asking, Tyki tangled their fingers together, holding his hand tightly. It felt like he didn’t want him to be lost, or that he was ready to keep him steady in case he fell apart. It gave Allen a sense of safety, and at the same time it left him giddy with excitement. Was it the cocaine? Was it the flashing lights, the music, the smell of liquor?  
  
Tyki’s hand was smooth and large, and Allen’s own disappeared into his. On his own initiative - which he knew he was going to regret and be embarrassed about - Allen pushed him on the dance floor and broke the interlacement of their fingers to plant his hands on his chest. Tyki smoothed his hands at his sides, abandoning himself to the languor of another dance. For the whole time, they gazed into each other’s eyes. Allen laughed breathlessly, sweating and dancing and throwing his white hair over one shoulder, the consistency of Tyki’s muscles under his touch, his masculine, careful grip at his sides, doing what Allen did, moving the way Allen moved.  
  
Instantly, Tyki’s skin all shades of blue under the lights, the beat turned into an alluring synth and Allen gasped, Tyki smiled, his laugh ghosting across his [mouth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=E5i2Wa7daDA).  
  
“Uh, okay,” Tyki said, eyes wide and heated and hazy, “I _love_ this song.”  
  
Allen hummed along, giving in to an unknown impulse to tiptoe and try to reach Tyki’s height, his lips an inch away from his. And he laughed, for the millionth time that night, forgetting that he’d taken cocaine and that it was a shameful guilt to bear - ignoring that he’d suffered, for a second, for the sake of dancing with that beautiful, exotic stranger.  
  
“It’s about those like you,” Tyki went on, caught in the catchy synthesiser of the song, “ _smalltown_ boy. Kind of a mess. A rebel,” Tyki’s hand rested at the small of his back, the tip of his nose brushing Allen’s, “I don’t know yet, but there’s _something_ about you.”  
  
In all his coy flirtatiousness, Allen decided that it felt good to be stared at, analysed, _desired._ “Care to find out, Tyki?” he offered with a crooked grin, his pale, feather-like eyelashes flickering amorously.  
  
“Would you let me?” Tyki questioned. His dance was rowdy, hips rolling smoothly as Allen turned around and ground against his crotch, feeling Tyki’s hands on him, his beat accelerated and a taunt hanging at his words. Sweat stuck to Allen’s skin as his back arched flexuously, soaring high with the music and Tyki’s perfume and his cautious, imperturbable attitude.  
  
“Prove yourself worthy,” Allen’s voice came out addictive and honeyed, head tilted to the side to look up at Tyki over his shoulder, eyelashes low, a sliver of silver eye shining under the lights. “Worthy of looking inside me.”  
  
With a modulated laugh, Tyki trailed his hand down Allen’s chest, palm rubbing his nipples from the layer of his hoodie, then slid it back up until it brushed Allen’s throat. A desperate noise left Allen’s lips as he imagined Tyki’s hand firm and commanding around his neck, thumb at his hyoid, his voice reduced to a hot, low, gravelly laugh into his ear. “I think this is a good start,” Tyki whispered softly, only for Allen to hear.  
  
Pliant into his embrace, Allen turned to face him and wrapped his arms around his neck, lips pink and delicate to invite Tyki’s. Nothing separated them and nothing was prettier than the shape of Tyki’s nose, his white teeth glimmering, the smell of the finest brand of tobacco stuck to the fabric of his shirt. Allen knew that his coquetry was caused by the drugs, that it had nothing to do with himself. He knew that he was playing, that in the morning Tyki would be gone and Allen would simply remember him as the man that had saved his night, kind and observant enough to _care._ _  
__  
_ The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth.  
  
But it couldn’t be different.  
  
So he acted out of instinct because there would be no consequences, nothing to worry about or to consider twice. Because he knew Tyki wanted it, considering how persistently he’d pressed their bodies together on the dance floor, how he groped Allen’s slender hips and laughed with him and smiled and said exactly the right thing to say. Because he knew that it didn’t matter, that it was a whim of a night and too much sweat, cocaine and pain and pent-up frustrations.  
  
Running his fingers through Tyki’s curls, he let his lips rest at the corner of his mouth. Tyki sighed low, reaching up to cup Allen’s cheek, stroking his face with a gentle, calloused thumb. Allen insisted further, eyes slipping closed as he touched Tyki’s lips, just barely, in a velvet kiss. But Tyki laughed, held the back of his head and whispered a gentle demand, “I want this when we’re not high,” a reprimand in his eyes, “when we're able to understand what’s going on,” tucking Allen’s hair behind his ear, “when you want it because you’re dying to taste my lips and my tongue on yours,” subtle mockery, his hips never faltering.  
  
Allen stumbled on his words, mumbled something, then exhaled a confused, nervous laugh. Tyki hid something indistinctly addictive, almost suspicious. But his eyes were honest, and his hands were touching him where Allen wanted them to touch. And he felt that it was _okay,_ that it was genuine. That his night didn’t have to end into someone’s bed. That he could talk to someone without other intentions, because sex wouldn’t solve anything.  
  
It made him realise how tired he was, that his feet ached, that he’d been dancing all night and he felt horrible but something _good_ had happened and it was because a sarcastic stranger didn’t want to take advantage of him even when Allen _died_ to be taken. It made him wish it would never end. That he’d bask in the pureness of their dance - which was contradictory, really, because it was indecent and he’d been rubbing his crotch against Tyki’s to drag a response out of him. Tyki wasn’t unfazed, really. Allen saw the danger in his eye. The way he would breathe into his ear and laugh and touch his hip, or his hair, or his ribs.  
  
And he was lost. Lost.  
  
“You can't say for certain that we'll meet each other again,”Allen muttered dreamily.  
  
“We will,” Tyki promised, and his voice sounded like a dazzling hallucination. It scared him. “I know.”  
  
Until, at last, Allen’s heart was filled with a caustic ache. His body heated, mind hazy. Overcome with something _beautiful_ , so insupportably beautiful. So much that Tyki’s hands on his sides gave him a stinging pain, blood sizzling, electrifying.  
  
So erotically _slow_ , that Allen slipped out his embrace and casted him one last look before running out the club, away from him, from all that alcohol, all that music, his friends. Acknowledging, nauseous, that they’d look for him and he wouldn’t be there, walking down the streets of the cold city because he couldn’t bear to see the hurt in Lena’s eyes and the doubt in Lavi’s smile when he was high and lying and self-deprecating and _dying_ for a stranger.  
  



	2. my body is a cage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> foreplay, tenderness, affection, poker...and hot making out. they are FALLING in love!!!!!!!!!!!

The first time Tyki tried drugs, he was seventeen.   
  
It was curiosity, really. He had the hazardous inclination to underestimate the value of little things. How could a single pill or a gram of coke destroy one’s brain cells, life, economy, morals? And why was it so delightful, so frightfully inviting? Naturally, Tyki had to try. He had everything under control. He was rebellious, and really, the drugs made him feel good.    
  
Most of the time, things that were supposed to be bad made him feel enormously powerful. And calm. And at peace. For a while, there were no contraindications. His attention span was the same (not that he’d been diligent, once). The sex was pleasant, and his pockets didn’t seem to be empty. He gained friends, girls, and soon discovered that street-life suited him more than the fancy events, the sophisticated dinners, the constructed discourses Sheryl forced him to engage into.    
  
Everyone was too dramatic. The evil they talked about on TV wasn’t cocaine.   
  
It was the system. And boredom.    
  
Tyki hated being bored. Despised people that would talk to him about the same things, or the girls that pretended to know him. He hated that his days would fade into one endless loop, that he had duties and tasks to accomplish. Loathsome obligations, nothing he had applied for out his own volition. It was clear to him that the way society worked was the core problem of a dissatisfied humanity.   
  
Every man had to exceed his limits. Live for the thrill, grasp the fruit of the unknown. Experience different dimensions, delete the bad sensations. Succumb to pleasures and vices, as long as they would quench his thirst.   
  
And it was good. It was amusing, a new field to explore. Weed to make him relax; psychedelics to take at dawn with friends by his side and talk and listen to music; cocaine for the sex, for the money, proof of his status, of his  _ strength.  _ Showing that he was invincible, that there was nothing that could appease the brutality of his mind.   
  
He had fantasies.    
  
Pretty girls and pretty boys submitting to him. Collars around a pale angel’s neck, tear-stained faces and sweet, scarlet lips pulled around his dick. Spanking, hurting, degrading. Cutting, possessing,  _ defending.  _ Assimilating. Tyki wanted the violence, that scorching pain. And all the ways sex could make him feel, to remind him that he was still human.   
  
And the drugs made him feel really,  _ really  _ good.   
  
Until he realised that he was not that  _ fantastic,  _ when visions of his tormented consciousness flashed before his eyes. Filthy bodies caging him, spirals of sex and death and brutalisation. Mirrors of maimed limbs, of horrors and terror and all the sorrow he had superbly thought he’d be able to yield. But he wasn’t. And it terrified him. It made him conscious of his mortality. Cold, pure, haunting fear. The shadow of madness, snakes creeping down his back, claws around his throat. Worms eroding his beautiful structure, eating him to nothing but a bone.    
  
Gradually, the drugs stopped making him feel good.   
  
And  _ of course,  _ going to that fucking narcotics-anonymous center hadn’t been his decision. It was a fucking mockery. Tyki skipped every meeting, and the ones he attended took place during times where he was either immensely bored or bizarrely sympathetic. People said that he was an awfully good listener. Tyki didn’t care much. He liked to observe that spectacle of decay without judging it. And the fact that he didn’t look particularly traumatised earned him bothersome suspicions.  _ I like to laugh about things,  _ Tyki used to reply with a smile and a cigarette between his lips, bathing in an absolute truth. After all, his whole existence was based on deep, spontaneous sarcasm.   
  
Sitting on the wooden bench, Tyki looked around himself. The center was an old church with plain white walls and a broad window of painted glass. Even though it wasn’t massively tall, the main aisle gave a sense of alienation. Voices echoed through the walls, drowning in that sacrality.    
  
It wasn’t the place for him to stay.   
  
Furthermore, he couldn’t smoke during a meeting. Quite a few times a man with a gruff voice had to remind him to toss his cigarettes away and avoid filling that holy place with the stench of tobacco. So, as he had nothing to do, Tyki’s imagination wandered into new places. He observed people and imagined their stories before they could confess them, tried to understand how they might have reached the point of self-destruction. Most of them were forgettable faces. Everyone started the same,  _ “Hi, I’m XXX, I’m an addict”.  _ It became exhilarating. Repeating the same words for the umpteenth time, testifying the significance of their guilt.   
  
But that time he was in a different mood as he revived the memories of the previous night. As the girl with the red hoodie took a seat to leave space for a white-haired boy to stand in front of the altar, fidgeting with his hands and showing everyone a kind smile. Without the flashing lights, Tyki saw him distinctly. Visibly underweight, Allen looked ethereal in his blue sweater and a pair of black jeans.    
  
So bright and graceful that Tyki was abruptly drawn in, as if lured into the siren’s spell. Yet Allen wasn’t looking at him. At no one, actually, if not an invisible point in front of himself.   
  
He began with a smile, hands held together on his lap. “Hi. I’m Allen and I’m an addict. Today, uh,” his gaze was crystal, lips still. “I’m 30 days clean.”    
  
People clapped at his words.  _ Oh.  _ Tyki spread his eyes wide open, an amused chuckle slipping past his lips.    
  
_ What a liar. _ _  
_ _  
_ Allen’s eyes crossed his.   
  
They forged a mute understanding. Or a shameful complicity. Allen was a liar, and a beautiful one.   
  
Allen was quick to look away and regain his pristine-plastic smile. “I’m here because I made a promise to someone. That I would keep walking, no matter what. That I can become a better person, and everything will work out in the end.”   
  
Tyki crossed his legs, staring in appreciation. Allen’s voice resounded in the cage of his body, was it the blatant falsity of his smile or the fabricated optimism? And again, something mysterious dwelled in the silver of his eyes, something that reminded Tyki of himself.    
  
(✽)   
  
Tyki met him outside the church in devoted contemplation, cigarette hanging from his skinny, pink lips as his eyes looked up at the sky; it was clear blue, gently warmed by the winter Sun. The organ resounded inside the church, nothing except its grave notes filling the air between them. Shivers of cold shook Allen’s lithe form, fingers trembling softly as he brought the cigarette to his lips and totally ignored Tyki’s presence.   
  
“That was excellent acting, boy,” Tyki began teasingly.   
  
“What do you mean?” Allen snapped, lips squeezed tight around the Marlboro, breath shallow.    
  
Looking at him, Tyki gave a short titter. “You lied about being clean,” he said, blunt, simply expressing the truth without any personal consideration, because he  _ felt  _ that Allen was in the same bad place as his, “didn’t you?”   
  
“Are you going to report it to the good priest like a faithful believer?”    
  
“No, none of that,” Tyki laughed; it tasted acid and it faded effortlessly. “I’m anything except a man of good morals,” he continued, and finally Allen looked at him with the corner of his eye, a complacent grin pulling at his beautiful lips, “and I don’t want to be.”    
  
“Is there someone with a good morality?” Allen inquired, taking a deep breath around the filter of his cigarette.   
  
“Not here, probably,” Tyki replied, fixated on the paleness of Allen’s cheek, the way he’d so spitefully avoid Tyki’s eyes. “And I understand it, really. You connect with people that experienced the same things and you think you’re making amends for what you’ve done,” he said low, features twisted in a bitter grin, “but it’s not easy. You just share all the shame.”   
  
“All for a pill. Or a white line,” Allen exclaimed, dropping the consumed cigarette under his shoe to stub it with the tip of it. At last he turned to look at Tyki, leaning against the wall with his side.    
  
“But the pill itself is not the real danger. Or the white line,” Tyki retorted. “It’s what you make of it. The idea you project onto it,” Allen was focused on him, eyes of a liquid grey. “It’s either thinking you’re stronger than the drugs or irreparably hopeless.”   
  
“Which category do you belong to?” Allen asked softly, maintaining that thread of mutual collusion. As Tyki sat down with his back pressed against the wall of the church, Allen slid by his side, draping his arms around his legs, knees pulled up to his chest.   
  
“I thought I was stronger than the drugs,” Tyki smiled. “It taught me a lesson.”   
  
“And now?” Allen whispered, his thigh brushing Tyki’s arm as they were close, looking at each other and then at the clouds above them. “Now you’re clean?”   
  
“Two weeks clean,” Tyki said. “If drugs didn’t manage to kill me, I don’t know what else will.”   
  
Allen’s silence was strangely comfortable, sweeter than the breathy laugh he exhaled when Tyki asked, “and you? Do you want to stop?”   
  
“My friends want me here for a reason,” Allen said, resting his chin atop his knee, arms tight around his legs, fingers laced together.    
  
“But  _ you? _ ” Tyki murmured, eyelashes fluttering sensually as he shot Allen an understanding look. “Do you want to stop hurting yourself, boy?”   
  
“Honestly, I feel like I haven’t even started,” Allen was smiling, voice husky and pleasantly tremulous, while his eyes, firm and resolute, reminded him of a dark ocean, silent water. Tainted sarcasm an exquisite contrast with his pair of pink, blossom-like lips, how they felt as he’d pushed them against Tyki’s in the midst of a chaotic dance under flashing lights.   
  
And Tyki  _ had to  _ ask him, “how are you, really?” with such unwavering calm as Allen’s cheek tinged a sober tint of red, as though nobody had cared to ask before.   
  
“Why are you so interested?” Allen said quietly, crouched into himself. He’d abandoned his smile to furrow his colourless brows in a defensive frown, similar to a caged animal.   
  
Tyki scoffed. “I don’t know. Curiosity?” he said in a confidential tone, warmth pooling in his chest as he gave a light-hearted smile, “or is it because I enjoyed talking to you last night, boy?”   
  
“Well,” Allen sneered, tilting his head just slightly, “are you sure it wasn’t the cocaine?”    
  
“Trust me, I would notice,” Tyki assured, attracted to the movement of Allen’s fingers as they moved his hair over his shoulder, baring one side of his candid neck. “You knew what you were saying.”    
  
“I feel like I was in charge, actually,” Allen finally laughed. “Especially when we danced,” and the coquetry was back in his expression, but it was cognisant and mostly a way to make fun of Tyki.   
  
“Were you?” Tyki said with equal sultriness, bringing his face closer to Allen’s, “or was I merely letting you believe it?”    
  
“Don’t tempt me, Tyki,” Allen fought back, cocking his head at just the right angle to let his hair flip and make Tyki’s heart burst. “As you said, I know what I was saying.”    
  
“And you know what you were doing,” Tyki added, and Allen didn’t say anything to justify himself. He looked at Tyki and then turned his gaze away, a smile still visibly curling the corner of his lip. Oh, and that lip. That mouth. It was tempting, seemed so extremely kissable that for a second Tyki had regretted rejecting his kiss the night before - but he knew it had been the wisest decision. For Allen, personally, and for himself. He’d wait, earn it, and let himself enjoy the simplicity of Allen’s company.    
  
“Oh, and if you’re not busy tonight,” Tyki said, getting back on his feet and tending one hand for Allen to take, “I know a place where we can eat fantastic pancakes,” and the boy’s eyes sparkled unapologetically, sign of a fresh youth, beautiful as Tyki winked at him and offered, “want to come with me?”   
  
“You’re paying,” Allen blurted, a devilish smirk shattering the illusion of his sweet smile.    
  
(✽)   
  
The local diner was painted in electric blue and red; faux-leather seats and square tables. Vintage posters on the walls and the warm scent of tea and coffee, all flowing into one essence to put someone’s heart at ease. The music was suffused, gentle piano a soothing background to convivial chattering.   
  
Allen sat in front of him, holding a strawberry milkshake between his hands. Putting his lips around the straw, he sucked it vehemently enough to colour his cheeks red, his shoulders relaxed, his eyes regaining a new energy. The waiter arrived with their chocolate pancakes; Allen grasped the fork and took a mouthful of the pastry, mumbling incoherently in ecstatic delight.   
  
“I can’t imagine where you put all this food,” Tyki commented ironically, resting his elbows on the table, “and I don’t think it’s up to human comprehension,” a grin bloomed across his face, fond and amused, “but you can admit that I had a good idea, right?”   
  
Allen, mouth stuffed with pancakes and the milkshake, said something incomprehensible and moved his head in a motion similar to a nod. Only when he’d swallowed he was able to say, “do you come here often?”   
  
“I come here with my niece,” Tyki answered, leaning forwards to take a sip from Allen’s straw. Licking the cream off his lips, he rested comfortably against the seat and watched Allen eat, “I have plenty of free time and she uses it against me as an excuse to take her where she wants and buy her favourite sweets.”    
  
“I hear fondness in your voice,” Allen pointed out, casting him a tender look as he alternated between drinking his milkshake and shoving another piece of his pancake into his mouth.  


  
“Yeah, you could say I’m close to her,” Tyki admitted.    
  
Every now and then, Allen’s foot brushed his under the table, their legs tangled together. Tyki tapped his fingers rhythmically against the surface, so dangerously close to Allen’s.   
  
“And this time you took me here,” Allen taunted, tongue sliding out to lick the cream off the corner of his mouth, “and you’re buying my favourite sweets. I bet the owner of this diner knows your wallet very well.”   
  
“I don’t know about that,” Tyki chuckled, “but it makes me think that you’re the one who’s interested in my wallet, boy.”   
  
“The wealthier the better,” Allen grinned, politeness lost to expose something more natural and more...comfortable. He was more like  _ himself.  _ He wasn’t worrying about what to say, or whether it would offend Tyki. Tyki bit back with the same wittiness and his laugh was deep and controlled, as if nothing truly phased through him.    
  
Allen hadn’t laughed so much in a very long time.   
  
Tyki snickered temptingly. “Is it what strippers say?”   
  
“Be careful,” Allen whispered, tongue peeking out as he wrapped his lips around the straw, sucking the milk in. He parted with a slick sound, looking at Tyki through batting eyelashes, “I know how to walk in plateaux heels but no, I’m not a stripper.  _ Yet. _ ”   
  
“ _ Oh, _ ” Tyki’s voice was pained with desire, “I wouldn’t be surprised if you were, boy.”   
  
“There’s nothing more powerful than a stripper that knows what she wants,” Allen stated, taking the last bite of the delicious pancake.    
  
“Do you know what you want, Allen?” Tyki questioned, his gaze unmoving and so constantly focused on Allen that it took his breath away, because he was beautiful and patient and smooth and god, his voice was so rough when he whispered in a mockery, “are you powerful?”   
  
“Not yet, I suppose,” he said firmly, fingers trailing across the cold cup of his milkshake, “I’m still conquering new parts of myself. It’s a brand new start, after all.”    
  
“So you’re considering the idea of getting clean, huh,” Tyki said, inquisitive but laid-back and still so  _ gentle _ and respectful, “it’s for the best, really.”   
  
“I want to stop hurting my friends,” Allen claimed, instinctively looking down at his hands and at how he fidgeted with the straw. “I want to be there for them.”   
  
Tyki pinched his cheek, softly, then ruffled his snow white hair.    
  
“Take care of yourself first,” he said, fingers tilting Allen’s chin to make him look into his eyes. Allen did and it broke his heart, because why would a stranger care for him? Why would Tyki take him to eat and make him laugh and smile and bother spending his time with him as if they were friends, as if they could be something  _ more _ ?   
  
(✽)   
  
Tyki’s car was clean but slightly messy. Papers on the back seat, packets of cigarettes and all types of stuff - a pair of jeans, school books (they must have belonged to his niece, considering that it was basic math).   
  
Often Allen surprised himself staring at Tyki for a long time.   
  
His hands on the steering wheel, his legs, almost too long to fit properly under the dashboard. His tongue licking his dry lips as he drove carefully with perfect ease, laughing at everything and wanting to know anything about Allen. Where he studied, if he liked it, did he have friends, what kind of music did he listen to.   
  
And Allen answered without lying. Because those were simple details of his worthless life. But it felt more meaningful, sometimes, given how fascinated Tyki seemed; Allen wanted to think he was pretending to be interested, but his smile was too  _ soft.  _ _  
_ _  
_ Allen’s heart skipped a beat.   
  
Tyki drove him to his flat, stopped the car, looked at him with a gentle smile and pearly teeth. “I want to meet you again, boy,” he said, fingertips so delicate as he touched Allen’s hand, thumb stroking one knuckle.    
  
Shivering at his touch, a stupid idea flashed in his mind and he really ached for Tyki’s lips on his body but didn’t want to show it,  _ yet,  _ “you could...come upstairs for a while. Drink a cup of coffee or something.”   
  
Tyki was rendered speechless at the offer, but quickly regained his sensual smile and resumed brushing Allen’s hand, stroking it softly, “is that because you feel bad for my wallet?” he joked  _ tenderly,  _ taunt softened by the pleasant surprise in his honey-eyes.   
  
“I would never feel bad for someone’s wallet,” Allen said primly, slipping his hand under Tyki’s grasp to trail his fingertips across his wrist, a bit coquettishly.    
  
“I trust what you say, really,” Tyki chuckled, eyes scanning around for a spot where he could park his car. Once he did, his hand abandoned Allen’s to grab the wheel and settle the car safely, the ghost of his fingers still brushing Allen’s pale skin.   
  
Allen hopped out the car, walking a few meters away from Tyki to lead him into the building. He felt Tyki’s eyes behind him, and suddenly turned his head to the side to check him over his shoulder. His gaze was naturally attracted to his ass or the way Allen shimmied his hips as he walked, consciously provocative, and found he was enormously pleased with that.   
  
Tyki’s footsteps increased, reaching Allen as they climbed up the stairs; Allen took it as a challenge about who’d reach his floor first, and an authentic laugh rolled off his lips when Tyki chased him, too, smiling at him as Allen looked at him over his shoulder, always controlling and  _ asking  _ to be caught.   
  
Ultimately, they were by Allen’s door. Turning around, Allen matched Tyki, who was beautiful and standing in front of him, face plastered in a victoriously complacent grin. They stared at each other breathlessly, giving in to incoherent laugh and the breeze of a mysterious  _ happiness.  _ Allen was giddy without being drunk.   
  
Tyki looked at him thoroughly. Allen sensed him gaze at the details of his face, down to his hips, up his smooth neck. And in a second, Tyki’s hands were at his waist and Allen was pressed against the door, raising his arms to naturally lock them around Tyki’s neck, pulling him down to press their noses together.   
  
Tyki’s face was so close to his that Allen could smell the tobacco in his breath and a masculine essence lingering at his neck, a mix of dried sweat and sunlight on his beautiful dark skin. Lips wet, concealing a soft, long, slick tongue. Allen wasn’t able to look away, as if destined to melt in the haze of Tyki’s eyes. So Tyki caged him between his body and the door, smoothing one hand - so strong, so large, so arousing - up Allen’s side, climbing up his chest, touching Allen’s cheek. Leaning in the touch, Allen was overwhelmed by a wave of warmth that made his knees grow weak and his breath come out short, struck by a feverish sensation.   
  
“What?” Allen murmured, voice shaky, somewhat  _ abashed.  _ “Why do you keep staring at me?” as if he were not worth being appreciated, because everything about him was terribly disgusting and a fucking tragedy. But Tyki’s eyes communicated otherwise, making Allen feel like the centre of the entire world, the only thing for Tyki to study, to cherish, to  _ adore _ .   
  
“Does it make you nervous?” Tyki asked regardfully, hand cradling Allen’s cheek, the other at his hip, “do you want me to look away?”   
  
“No,” Allen responded promptly, as if terrified of the thought. Of Tyki directing his attention somewhere else, his lips on another mouth, his snide remarks and cocky laughter shared with someone  _ better.  _ “It doesn’t...make me nervous.”   
  
“Good,” Tyki whispered smoothly, so tall and  _ massive  _ in front of him. “I don’t want you to be nervous. I want you to agree to every second of this,” he went on, rolling his thumb across Allen’s cheekbone in the sweetest caress, Allen melting to a puddle at the dreamy tone of Tyki’s voice, as if he could wrap it around himself. Tyki played with his lower lip, testing the plushness, “do you, boy?”   
  
“You’re asking too many questions, Tyki,” Allen remarked, caressing the curls at Tyki’s nape, the shiver audible in his voice as he smiled roguishly, “you think I’d let you do something I didn’t want?”   
  
“No, really,” Tyki chuckled, the tip of his nose squishing Allen’s. It was so affectionate and so slow and so gradual that Allen had lost track of time, didn’t care that they were in the middle of the alley and that his neighbours could walk out their door and watch them as they stared into each other’s eyes. “You are too strong for that,” Tyki added, a delighted sparkle in his eyes as Allen tangled his fingers through his hair, pulling tightly.   
  
Allen let out a surprised gasp as Tyki picked him in his arms, wrapping Allen’s legs around his waist and grinning smugly as Allen’s height suddenly matched his. The thought was faintly embarrassing, to think that he was smaller than him and that he’d be able to face him only if Tyki hoisted him up - but it was equally sweet.   
  
The distance between them was cut as Tyki pressed his mouth against his, tilting his head to the side. Allen parted his lips, letting them slide with his in a sweet, indulgent dance. Passion soared in his chest, heart filled with nothing but how good he felt as Tyki’s protective arms were around him. Tyki’s mouth was slick and soft, lips pursing sensually as Allen caught his lower lip between his, sucking it in a bruising kiss. Tyki held his thighs, sliding his tongue past Allen’s lips to tangle it with his, wet and pliant,    
letting out deep, throaty groans. Their breaths fused together, Tyki’s perfume enveloping him and keeping him warm, safe, ecstatic.    
  
Pulling him with a hand into his hair, Allen shoved his tongue into his mouth and kissed him deeply, tiny sweet sounds falling past his lips as Tyki moved fiercely, dragging Allen’s lower lip between his lips. His kisses denoted technique and natural talent, along with a profound, irresistible attractiveness. They made Allen blank; thoughts fuzzy, worries forgotten.    
  
He wasn’t thinking about getting high.    
  
Only Tyki, and how he kissed him one more time, groaning at every slick noise they made when their lips parted and rejoined.    
  
Allen had forgotten how it felt to be kissed. But even then, Tyki’s lips made him feel so strange; he wasn’t a sexual object, or a one-night stand to seduce and coax into fervent kisses. He made him feel like something to be treasured, as if his kisses were the greatest reward.   
  
Only a foil of damp silver was visible as Allen looked at him through his lashes, mouth wet with Tyki’s spit. “I could kiss you for hours,” Tyki whispered against his lips, fingers possessive on the flesh of Allen’s thigh. Their lips clashed one more time, Tyki luring Allen’s tongue into his mouth to suck the tip of it, the trace of his cigarette arising Allen’s senses into a complete dizziness, a pleasant sensuality. Tyki kissed him again, again, again and again, then murmured sweet,  _ so  _ sweet that Allen frowned, “you are such a beautiful boy.”   
  
Was  _ he _ ? Allen felt like a mess. Like an irreparable mistake. He led every happy moment to waste, so caught up in himself that the merriest memory turned into something intolerable for him to remember. And he did it all for the drugs, because he was good for nothing.   
  
But that handsome stranger said he was beautiful. Allen smiled; it was a lie, because why would it be true? Why would Tyki mean it?   
  
_ Maybe he’s broken like me. _ _  
_ _  
_ Tyki cupped his jaw into his palm as he nipped at his lower lip, laughing breathlessly into the kiss. Allen buried both hands into his hair, taking a handful of his black, thick curls; their noses bumped as he licked Tyki’s Cupid’s bow, pressing a tender, loving smooch. Tyki took his face into his hand, squishing his cheeks together, and let his tongue explore Allen’s mouth for the millionth time. Allen liked that, the feeling of being held in place. Taken, forcefully invaded.    
  
“Last night I kept my eyes on you since you walked into the club,” Tyki confessed, “I saw you dance,” a breath vanishing on Allen’s tongue. He shuddered, softly, and clung onto Tyki’s shoulder, shook with the weight of his gentleness, his deep voice whispering all those sweet words, “I saw something in you,” a kiss to the boy’s cheek, then he mouthed against his earlobe, seduced him, hit him with the realisation that, “and it wasn’t because of the drugs.”   
  
_ Maybe he felt alive like I did, for the first time in so long.  _ _  
_ _  
_ Allen gave him a tender look, smoothing his hand at the back of his neck. “I don’t know,” he said, trying to laugh around the breaking of his own heart, unexplainable and yet so  _ painful,  _ “I’ve been dead for so long, I can’t even tell.”   
  
_ Was it cocaine? _ _  
_ _  
_ “I know,” Tyki said, resting a kiss on his jaw, “but I see hope in you,” and a smile bloomed across his face, so meaningful and so  _ hurt  _ that Allen was aching with that sense of unity, of being  _ understood.  _ _  
_ _ Do I still know what’s real and what’s not? _ _  
_ _  
_ Tyki’s kiss had made him feel real.   
  
“I’d like to think it will lead me somewhere,” Allen said, curled up in a sad smile as he initiated another kiss, silencing Tyki’s words in the mess of his tongue into his mouth, his lips moving with his, kiss-bruised and swollen.    
  
The kiss ended when they were both breathless, gasping for air. Tyki guided him back on his feet, a satisfied smile, lip glimmering with the strand of Allen’s spit. The boy wiped it off with the back of his thumb, turning around and fumbling into his pocket for his pair of keys. His head was spinning and he felt unbearably hot, but eventually managed to open the door and enter into his flat.    
  
“Don’t mind the mess,” Allen said, ashamed of the pile of books he’d left on the floor - some of them belonged to Lavi - and his undone bed, too many mugs and dishes into the sink.   
  
“I really, really don’t care,” Tyki reassured. “You should see my room. It’s a fucking hell.”   
  
As Allen took two clean mugs, he heard Tyki say from behind his shoulder, “you play poker, boy?” and turned around to meet his gaze, looking all smug and content as he held the deck of cards in one hand and the fiches-case in the other. Oh. Allen had placed them on the table without bothering to put them somewhere better, but the simple sight of it instilled a good, old challenge in him.   
  
“I do. And I don’t recommend playing with me,” Allen snickered, “you’d lose all your cash.”   
  
“I lost a good part today,” Tyki reminded, sitting down. He shuffled the cards, an intrigued look printed on his face. He threw a scathing look at Allen, purred, “What about strip poker, boy?”   
  
“I thought we were going to have a cup of coffee,” Allen teased, yet was immediately invested in the perspective of the game.   
  
“Scared?” Tyki scoffed.   
  
Allen raised a brow, smiling wickedly. “Quite the opposite,” he said, putting the mugs back into the sink and taking a seat in front of Tyki. “I’m worried for you, actually.”   
  
“Don’t be,” Tyki said, crossing his legs in smug contemptuousness. “I can win, surely.”    
  
“You just want to see me naked,” Allen retorted venomously.    
  
“That,” Tyki whispered, leaning forwards to steal a kiss from Allen’s lips, “would be appreciated,” he sat back, looking all so sure of himself that Allen wanted to kiss that grin off his face, “let’s start, boy.”   
  
Allen placed out the first card, passing two cards to Tyki and two to himself. Allen’s eyes were on him, controlling his breath, his hands and where he moved them. Allen’s own swiftly took two to let them slip into his sleeve, an unfazed, crooked smile twisting his soft, swollen lips. Placing the blinds, Allen raised to add money to the bet; Tyki was grinning, and Allen thought it was because he wouldn’t lose any cash, because he’d sapiently decided to play strip poker instead.    
  
But the bet was symbolic.    
  
“Call,” Tyki said, matching the boy’s bet.   
  
Grinning, Allen put five cards on the table. “Show yours.”   
  
Tyki dropped his cards, revealing a simple flush.    
  
“Too bad,” Allen said dryly, pride puffing up his chest as he showed his cards - one that he had carefully changed when Tyki was too busy looking at his cards, “Royal Straight Flush.”   
  
“Demon,” Tyki muttered, totally impressed.    
  
Allen chewed on his lower lip as the man unbuttoned his shirt, elegant fingers loosening with provocative slowness. As he tucked it off his shoulders, he bared a solid chest with firm pectorals, and  _ god,  _ Allen did his best not to assault him and kiss that beautiful body, let Tyki grab his hair and fuck his pretty pink mouth because he was too proud to let Tyki win so quickly.   
  
“Do you like what you see, boy?” Tyki smirked as he started to shuffle the desk for a second round.   
  
“Won’t tell,” Allen played coy, cards up his sleeve to fool Tyki and his pleased grin,  _ destroying  _ his idea of being beautiful enough to own the world.   
  
(Which was true, really.)   
  
Tyki was electric, sending him heated looks as he observed his cards. He exuded an intoxicating energy, a subtle violence, giving him the thrill Allen had longed for. The  _ sensation  _ he’d lost because he was too distracted with his own self-annihilation; it made him forget how powerful he could be with an ace up his sleeve.   
  
_ Four of a kind. _ _  
_ _  
_ Allen’s cards made a three of a kind. But his tactic hadn’t been miscalculated.   
  
He wanted it. He wanted to strip for Tyki.   
  
“Shhh,” Allen said, reaching out to press a finger against Tyki’s lips. He got up, shifting his hips from side to side bewitchingly, claiming Tyki’s eyes on him, giving a tantalising smile as he pulled his pants down his legs, smooth like porcelain. In all but his boxers, Allen stood in front of him and approached him with the confidence of a vixen, wanting him and his lips and his muscular chest pressed against him, everywhere, curls tickling his skin as Tyki ate his ass, his dick, as he kissed his nipple and  _ ravished  _ him.   
  
Allen sat on the table in front of Tyki, pressing his shoe against his chest in mockery. “Come here,” he whispered alluringly, mouth agape as Tyki obliged, getting up from his seat to kiss Allen, inhaling deep in the scent of him, savouring the taste of him. And with dominant brutality, Tyki spread his skinny legs apart and settled in between Allen, yanking a hand through his hair to guide him deeper into the kiss, tongues swirling, flicking, caressing, velvet on velvet.    
  
“Mh,” Allen moaned softly as Tyki’s lips moved away from his to land on his neck, printing open-mouthed, ticklish kisses. “Tyki,” he murmured dirtily, the man shoving his thumb past his lips. And Allen sucked it between his lips, filled his mouth of him and all the things Tyki wanted to give.    
  
“I love the way you say my name,” Tyki purred, sliding his tongue across his neck, “so dirty,” pressing another passionate kiss to his pulsating vein, “let me hear your voice, boy,” pushing his thumb in deeper, playing with Allen’s tongue, fucking his mouth with it.   
  
Allen moaned, throwing his head back and exposing more skin for Tyki to mark and kiss; and the man sunk his teeth into his neck, swirling his tongue at the spot, looking up at Allen as he shamelessly imprinted a hickey.   
  
Tyki pulled his thumb out of Allen’s mouth and took his ass into his palm, groping and squeezing him; Allen slung his arms around his shoulders, burying his head in the crook of his sinewy neck to press filthy kisses to his dark skin, melting in his perfume and the grip of his fingers as they kneaded his ass cheek, feeling him up, taking him.   
  
“You want to let my co-workers know what I’m up to, boy?” Tyki teased, biting on his lower lip when Allen licked his neck, carving the same hickey into his skin.   
  
“It’s not that visible,” Allen teased slyly, taking Tyki’s face into his hands to shove his tongue into his mouth, heat pooling in his insides at the arousing, wet contact. “It will fade in a day,” Allen purred on his lips, thumb at Tyki’s sharp cheekbone, lips catching his for an endless kiss, pressing his grin against his.    
  
“Maybe next time you’ll wear a pretty lipstick for me,” Tyki breathed into his mouth, hot and low and dangerous, giving Allen’s ass a teasing slap, making him arch his back, so spurred on, so needy, “so that your mark on my body won’t fade.”   
  
_ Oh.  _ Allen pictured it in his head. How handsome would Tyki look with lipstick stains on his chest, his thighs, his cock? Allen’s nails digging into his back, scratching him until he bled?   
  
Tyki pushed his hand between his legs, palming Allen’s aching cock. “Oh,” he whispered into his ear, “what do we have here?” licking Allen’s earlobe, rolling his thumb on Allen’s sensitive pink tip, “you’re turned on, aren’t you?”, breath like  _ fire  _ as it brushed Allen’s skin, hands so big between his thighs, Allen’s arousal shifting into something resembling  _ shame,  _ yet so pleasant, so overwhelming, “what a dirty little slut,” Tyki went on, fiddling with the waistband of his underwear.   
  
“God,” Allen muttered, feeling so heated and so sweaty and so attracted to him. He pulled Tyki in for a bruising kiss, trailing his fingers down his broad shoulders to scratch, having Tyki hiss, curse, letting the man fuck his mouth with his tongue and show him where his place was, how he needed to spread his lips apart for him to assault. “Put your mouth on me,” Allen demanded, cupping the hand Tyki was using to massage his leaking cock, “lick me,” he was breathless, bucking his hips against Tyki’s hand to have more, claim more.   
  
“You want it that much, boy?” Tyki shoved his boxers down his legs, letting Allen’s pink dick bounce free from restraint. “Your tip is soaking wet,” he said, and Allen felt so  _ ashamed,  _ yet so unapologetically lenient into Tyki’s arms. Tyki kissed him again, filthily, so loud, so perfect, “you want me to taste it?”    
  
“Yes,  _ yes, _ ” Allen gasped, dragging his blunt nails across Tyki’s arms, the finger of his left hand on the silver watch Tyki wore around his wrist, “take it into your mouth,” voice lowered to a raunchy invitation, hips erratically rolling to gain some friction.   
  
“My god, baby boy,” Tyki mouthed against his cheek, nosed through the hair that stuck to the boy’s heated face, “I’m dying to fuck you. To make a mess out of you,” a dangerous hiss that sent a shiver down Allen’s spine, “want to make you mine.”   
  
Giving him a sensuous smile, Tyki pressed a kiss to the boy’s nipple through the fabric of the black sweater he was still, unfortunately, wearing. Sinking down to his knees, his eyes were pure lust as he slid the tip of his tongue across Allen’s slit, taking his juices into his mouth with a deep groan. Allen let his eyes fall shut, hands smoothing through his curls, ankles by Tyki’s bare shoulders, relishing in the sight of him pressing sloppy kisses to his dick before engulfing it in his wet, heavenly warmth.   
  
Dying to be taken care of, Allen’s brows were pinched in a pleasured frown. When was the last time someone went down on him, lavishing him? Allen had known nothing but pain and meaningless one-night stands.    
  
Tyki was gorgeous. He was different. He was an addict like him, a sinner like him, as audacious as him, with all his sarcastic affirmations and sweet words, the way he’d obtain his victory or accept his defeat without losing his smile.   
  
Once he’d made his dick all slick with spit, the man started to bob his head up and down, slow and fluid, keeping his magnetic eyes on Allen through long, black eyelashes. Allen’s chest rose and fell, hair messy, sprawled like a halo around his shoulders as he thrusted into Tyki’s mouth, passing past his throat. Tyki gripped his waist, caressed his dick with his tongue and adored him - took Allen’s short dick into his mouth with captivating ease.    
  
“Look at you, boy,” Tyki massaged him into his hand, tongue still flicking across Allen’s dripping tip, “you’re sweating. Do you like me that much?” and a malicious grin left his lips, as if cognisant of the power he held over Allen, “do you like when I do  _ this? _ ” and he took him in to the base, sucking deep,  _ hard _ , while moving his tongue around.   
  
“It’s so good,” Allen whined, eyes rolling to the back of his head as Tyki touched all his delicate spots, driving him to ecstasy. It felt similar to drugs, the way they’d lift him higher to another dimensions. It left Allen wondering,  _ why are they so bad?  _ when they felt so good, when they saved him. “Tyki,” moaning his name, Allen pulled his hair so tightly, felt his teeth graze across his skin, “mh, Tyki”, moving his hips like a bitch in heat, showing himself wanton and lewd for Tyki’s pleasure.   
  
Eyes rolling to the back of his head, Allen came into his mouth; Tyki drove him to climax with his tongue, stained by the drops of semen that landed into his mouth, thick, tiny little moans falling past the boy’s lips. Allen forced himself to spring his eyes open and look. Tyki had swallowed it all, licking his lips clean and getting back to his feet, smug and pleased and tall. So tall. And he kissed him tenderly, making Allen savour his own salty, sticky taste onto the man’s tongue.    
  
Only when he pressed his clothed erection against his did Allen realise that Tyki was still hard and it would be unfair to let him go with it. In his post-orgasm euphoria, Allen cupped his hand around Tyki’s dick, massaging it into his palm.    
  
“Hey, it’s okay,” Tyki reassured him, taking Allen’s hand to bring it to his lips instead, pressing a reverential kiss to his fingers, “you’ll return the favour another time.”   
  
“But it’s gonna be so fucking uncomfortable for you,” Allen countered worriedly.    
  
Tyki scoffed, planting a kiss to Allen’s forehead. “I can handle it,” he said placidly. He looked into the boy’s eyes, breathing out a gentle laugh, “I had fun with you today.”   
  
Unconvinced, Allen gave a short kiss to his lips. “I had fun beating you at poker.”   
  
“Only the first round, if you remember fairly,” Tyki grinned, kissing the corner of his mouth. He wore the shirt he’d abandoned on the chair; Allen liked the way he hooked the buttons into the holes, how he buttoned his collar at the base of his prominent Adam’s apple. There was something enticingly masculine in every move of his.    
  
“Because I let you win on purpose,” Allen justified, “the second time.”    
  
“Sure,” Tyki chuckled, casting a quick look at his watch. Lifting his head, he caressed Allen’s cheek, slid his hand to cup his nape, and said, “can I meet you again?”   
  
“Uhm,” Allen evaluated, noticeably dizzy, “at the festival, maybe?”   
  
“That sounds perfect,” Tyki smiled fondly, coming forwards to kiss his mouth goodbye. “Want to accompany me to the door?”   
  
Shaking away his elation, Allen jumped off the table and pulled his boxers up. Once by the entrance, he felt a renewed sense of embarrassment mixed with something like  _ lust,  _ a secret expectancy. “See you, I guess,” he said faintly, smothered by the chuckle Tyki exhaled into his mouth as he caught his mouth in a kiss.    
  
Smiling so self-assuredly, Tyki gave his phone number before making his way out his flat, a trail of cologne and tobacco lingering on Allen’s skin where Tyki had kissed him.   


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for all the comments i got for chapter one. i appreciate them and i read every single one of them, ty <3 hope you enjoyed, xoxoxoxo


	3. i wanna be yours

“You haven’t told me what happened that night at the party,” Lavi said, hands on the wheel, a suggestive blink of his eye.   
  
“What,  _ what?”  _ Allen asked, momentarily disoriented. He’d been staring at the city outside the window, arm propped up, wandering in the flow of his thoughts. Tyki and his lips, Tyki’s texts, Tyki’s gentleness- and he was also very much absorbed in the awareness of his own look. Glossy lipstick, blue glitter on his eyes; tiny rhinestones at his cheekbone. Black jacket to secure him from the cold December.  _ Was he pretty enough?  _ _  
_ _  
_ “When you told me about that hot guy,” Lavi reminded, the taut line of his neck showing an implicit tension, white knuckles as he clutched the brake. “The one at the party. Did you meet him in the end?”   
  
“Oh,” Allen said, attention regained. His voice faltered at the base of his throat, chiming and tentatively coquettish. “I did, yes. We danced, even, but we were pretty far from you so you didn’t notice.”   
  
“Did you guys hook up?” Lavi asked, eye sprung in blithe curiosity, jaw relaxed as he waited for the traffic light to turn green. His manners were so different from Tyki; falsely confident, Lavi transmitted a pent-up nervousness, extreme carefulness translated into the quick scan of his eye across the street. Tyki was loose, lax, lazy; as if nothing could ever happen to him.   
  
Allen worried at his lower lip; something wonderful pervaded him from within as he contemplated the details of the two times he’d seen Tyki. But the horrid reminder of  _ failure  _ dwelled in his brain, infecting his joy.  _ It’s temporary. It’s going to end.  _   
  
“Yeah. I mean, not  _ completely, _ ” Allen explained. “Not that night. We met yesterday,” smiling, he tried not to notice how delighted Lavi looked, how his grin stretched wide and his eyebrow wiggled, “he took me to eat pancakes,” giggling sweetly, “the rest is a secret.”   
  
“No,” Lavi refused, mandatory. “You  _ must  _ tell me,” he turned left, so casually concluded that, “you sucked his cock.”   
  
“He sucked mine,” Allen corrected, relishing in the pleasant reminder, how Tyki lost at cards and exposed his chest, how he kissed Allen and pampered him.    
  
“Wow, now that’s,” Lavi squinted his eyes as to park the car without causing destruction, then eventually decided, “ _ gentlemanly, _ ” which suited Tyki, even if only to describe his ego, “did you give him your number? How did he take you out?”   
  
“Actually,” Allen said, “we met at the centre. He’s,” he reflected for a second, mouth twisted in a grimace and gaze turned away, a cynical laugh coming past his lips, “stupid like me, I guess.”   
  
“You’re not stupid,” Lavi said softly, giving a pat to Allen’s knee. “So he’s an addict.”   
  
Allen nodded, lower lip trapped between his teeth.   
  
Lavi was silent for a moment, and Allen listened clearly to the tires of the car driving against the asphalt. “I support you, whatever you do. Whoever you date,” Lavi’s voice dropped low, containing a tender secrecy, and Allen couldn’t help but look at him, at the frown that pinched his brows.   
  
“We’re not dating,” Allen defended.   
  
Lavi let out a chuckle, diverting his gaze from the street to look at Allen for a moment, and it struck his heart, caustic, “it’s just that, for you, Al, I hope he’s stable.”    
  
“What do you think, Lavi?” Allen laughed, intoxicatingly sweet. “It’s more likely that I will break his heart,” and his friend brushed his fingers across his knee, so close and so affectionate, “he’s not going to break mine.”   
  
“You little demon,” Lavi remarked fondly, the city lights glimmering in his emerald iris, “enjoy it,” he said, “if it’s meant to be,” pressing his foot on the pedal, lips red as he added, low, quiet, protective, “if it doesn’t hurt you.”   
  
“I know,” Allen reassured, and the laugh was stuck in his lungs. It hurt, cathartic, and it made his stomach twist into a knot. He smiled, horribly, as the city shone before his eyes and a poignant cold seeped through his bones. “I know, I promise.”   
  
( ✽ )   
  
The festival filled the main square, trees and buildings adorned with bright lights; there were various stands, filled with cooked apples, sticks of chips, all sorts of sweets. All the candy reminded Allen of Mana’s scent. It made him smile among the confusion of the crowd. The sleeve of his oversized jacket hanging past his wrist, Allen smoke a cigarette as he wandered through the sound of a guitar and the voice of a nameless musician, secluded at the corner of the street to gladden all the passer-bys that roamed through the square, children cackling excitedly, couples that held hands and rejoiced in all that glee. His other hand, caught in Lavi’s own, all the sounds deafened him, eyes strained to take in all the sparkling blue, red and pink.   
  
The sky was a dark blue, hovering above the colourful spectacle of the lights. Brushes of cold prickled his nape, skinny shoulders framed by the fabric of his black jacket.   
  
He didn’t want to be too obvious but  _ damn.  _ He scanned around, searching for oil-black curls and a voice like silk to emerge from the hurdle of people, a scent that would envelop him and suddenly revive his energy.    
  


Allen was numb, entirely and thoroughly. But his heart was beating and a flush of adrenaline coiled in his stomach, teased him at his insides, and for the first time in months he felt  _ young.  _ Expectant.    
  
With something to  _ happen. _   
  
And it wasn’t bad, really. He’d ran out of pills, not enough cash to afford coke for a whole month. It could have been worse. In other cases, he would have...panicked. He would have stayed home, cried, tried wounding himself and contemplate about death. How immensely ridiculous would it have been to die on the floor, naked and stupid and mostly agonising.    
  
He decided that bleeding on the floor wasn’t a glorious way to die.    
  
He wasn’t a rockstar, after all. No one would film a heartbreaking documentary to glorify his legendary misery.

  
He was a mere nobody.   
  
Allen squashed the cigarette beneath his shoe, looking up and around and everywhere to frame the moment, of all those lights and the kids laughing and Lavi by his side leading him through the crowd, of the food and the cooked apples and the doughnuts, of the music and the carousel and all the things that were supposed to be fun but he couldn’t enjoy. So he observed, listened, inhaled, because moments passed behind him and he’d be scared, he’d be alone and nothing would be fun anymore- without Lavi, alone,  _ alone. _   
  
He felt his phone vibrate against his thigh as they approached Lena and Kanda, who was fucking holding hands with Alma, but Allen was too distracted and too empty to care. They were together, they’d always been, and Allen was just the element that fixed them; mended them when Kanda  _ needed  _ it, when they were falling apart. Allen was happy for them, really. So he hugged Lena and Alma and reciprocated Kanda’s scowl, fetched the phone from his pocket and checked the source of the buzz.   
  
Tyki had sent him a text.   
  
Allen held the phone into both hands, securing it from other eyes except his. He felt the need to fix his hair and tuck it beside his ear, worrying at his lower lip and  _ smiling  _ and reading the four words five or six times, over and over again.   
  
_ Come find me, boy. _ _  
_ _  
_ What was that? A literal treasure hunt? A mockery directed at Allen, and Allen only, for him to lust after Tyki and subjugate to his games?    
  
Allen liked a good challenge.    
  


Stashing his phone back into his pocket, Allen hooked his arm around Lavi’s, felt his cheeks warm and the tip of his nose unbearably cold, body shaded with the single significance of Tyki’s  _ presence _ , felt it close by, into him, around him. Lavi’s arm slipped from under Allen’s grip to drape it around his waist, holding him pressed to himself by the hip in spontaneous complicity.    
  
“You already know what I’m gonna say, Al,” Lavi exclaimed, pointed at the giant roller coaster a few meters away from the group, big and colourful and monstrous, from where they could hear people literally  _ screaming _ , and said it regardless of Allen’s opinion, hyper-excited and easily distracted and totally convinced, “we have to go up there.”   
  
Which, honestly, didn’t immediately appeal to Allen. “You’re out of your fucking mind,” Allen scoffed, the fakeness of his complain soon unveiled by the roguish laugh that escaped his pale, slightly chapped lips.   
  
“It’s a yes,” Lavi concluded and shrugged, then turned his head to glance at Lena, giving her a persuading look with raised eyebrows and a cocky smile, “Al agrees. What about you, Lena?”   
  
“I don’t know,” she muttered, thoughtful, and tugged on Kanda’s sleeve, giving him a soft smile, “will you join us, Kanda?”   
  
And instantly, as an innate reflex, as if he’d die if he didn’t, he tightened his grip around Alma’s hand and rebutted harshly, “no way I’m gonna go up there like a fucking kid. That’s bullshit,” giving a lopsided look at Allen, vicious smirk at the corner of his lip.   
  
“Yu,” Alma called, sweet and patient and pouty, “would you please vary your vocabulary?” sighing, caressing Kanda’s knuckle with a gentle thumb, convincing him with his loving eyes and his pure attitude, “it’ll be fun! Come on!”   
  
“Fuck this shit,” Kanda argued unreasonably, vaguely whimsical. Or, simply, a boorish individual. Allen thought he was still hot in spite of his lack of manners.   
  
“Oh my god, Kanda, Alma is right,” Allen rolled his eyes, throwing a mordacious, side-eyed look at him, all smirk and fluttering lashes, “would you please vary your vocabulary?”   
  
“Says the one with dicks in his mouth every Saturday night,” Kanda retaliated, which sounded laughably truthful and Allen only but sniggered conceitedly, because it was so fucking true and so fun and there was nothing wrong about it.    
  
“Do you have a problem with that?” Allen inquired, pressed close to Lavi and snickering victoriously as he could sense the rage that boiled within Kanda, the  _ power  _ that filled him as he realised that he knew exactly what to say to sweep him off his feet, to taunt him and never succumb.    
  
Their banter was a distraction, really, and Kanda knew it too.   
  
Allen teased him and thought about Tyki and ‘come find me’ and his kisses. His legs around Tyki’s waist,  his lips the softest flower as the man caught them into his in possessive eroticism, pushing and waiting and seeking  _ consent  _ only to aggress him more. His dishevelled look, hair flipped back to  _ let  _ Tyki brutalise him with fervent kisses, skin so delicate and veins so fragile that Tyki wanted to grab and squeeze, choke him, adore him.   
  
“No, actually I don’t give a shit,” Kanda stated, and before he could proceed on insulting Allen Alma preventively pressed a hand against his mouth, thin brows pinched together in a terribly displeased frown.    
  
“You guys are embarrassing,” Lena sighed, a bit resigned. She went by Lavi’s side, who was cackling at every exchange between Allen and Kanda and seemed extremely amused by the last remark, as if  _ proud  _ and somewhat impressed with his best friend’s wittiness.    
  
He sped up his pace and dragged Allen and Lena to the queue of people by the roller coaster, looking up at the railroad and the steep slopes that awaited him. “Now, if you guys would please excuse me, stop bitching and let’s have the ride of our life,” he said severely, but it made Allen laugh because his skin was pale and his voice was uncertain, not so totally persuaded.   
  
“I mean,  _ I  _ am ready,” Allen said primly.   
  
“I am ready,” Lena agreed, smiling by Allen’s smile. “You’re sweating silly, Lavi, and really,” she reached out to pat his shoulder with a delicate, milky hand, long fingers against the fabric of Lavi’s yellow sweater, “I don’t want you to feel sick.”   
  
“Noooo,” Lavi refuted, shaking his head crazedly, “I won’t. I  _ won’t. _ ”   
  
Lena arched her brow as she walked past Lavi, smile on her lips half-worried and half-docile, and finally said, obviously  _ worrying  _ Lavi, “I hope so.”   
  
As they waited, Alma leaning against Kanda’s shoulder, Lena and Lavi’s gaze fixated on the pattern of the gigantic roller coaster, of all the inversions and slopes, all the up and downs, as if they imagined how it would possibly feel when their stomachs were empty and the blood rushed to their head.    
  
And all that, while Allen thought that it would be in some way hilarious to find Tyki there, on his own, waiting to hop in a roller coaster and try his best not to freak out.    
  
Tyki was a  _ dork _ .   
  
An idiot, with his sharp cheeks in gorgeous shades of hazelnut, eyes of gold scattered in sunrays and brown and an exotic nuance, hands that felt like velvet on Allen’s hips, felt like punishment when he squished the boy’s face into his fingers, commanding and beautiful and  _ big.  _ _  
_ _  
_ He liked poker and smoked cigarettes and snorted coke for  _ some  _ reason, which...Allen wasn’t particularly interested into. Doing drugs was  _ insane  _ and Tyki was probably as bad as him, as lost and broken and a fucking hypocrite.   
  
But Allen  _ imagined  _ him. Cutting white lines of coke, scooping them out with his long, sharp nose, one finger pressed at his open nostril. Inhaling it off someone’s body, most likely, giving himself to debauchery.   
  
Allen liked the idea of it. That Tyki was a disaster, but essentially glamorous. That he’d look at Allen like he did when they were at the party, smoking in a corner and eyeing his body from head to toe as Allen danced with Lavi, thought about getting high and drunk and elaborated all the strategies to avoid getting caught by his friends.   
  
And it killed him. It  _ killed  _ him, that the day after the party Tyki was still beautiful and Allen had realised that it wasn’t the cocaine that used to make him feel more than he intended to.    
  
Because Tyki was gentle, well-spoken, cunning. Because Allen hadn’t been able to take his eyes off him as glitter illuminated his face while they danced at the party, when he’d found Allen in the restrooms and thought he wasn’t feeling fine, took him out to have a breath of fresh air and declined his kiss even though his eyes were pure gold fantasy and ate through Allen,  _ penetrated  _ him.   
  
Because he was considerate, and Allen wanted to be bad just to drive him crazy.   
  
Only a little.   
  
Because he couldn’t believe that Tyki’s interest was genuine, couldn’t allow himself to bathe in his amusement and charming flirtations. Couldn’t think that Tyki would waste his time and money on him when he owned the world with his single beauty.   
  
_ Because  _ Allen didn’t belong where Tyki belonged and his drug addiction was pathetic and reprehensible, Tyki was  _ beautiful  _ and better and had  _ everything  _ at his disposal.   
  
“Fuuuuck,” Lavi distracted him from his train of thought, huffing out and dragging Allen with him as the ticket collector led them all in. They took their seats in the car, Lavi and Lena by his side, Alma and Kanda in front of them. The man attached their security belts with practiced swiftness, gave a sarcastic look at a frightened Lavi and pivoted on his heel, the new ride beginning slow and noisy, metal clattering against the rails.   
  
Allen closed his eyes, feeling his heart beat and his feet tap against the steel, riding along as the train took a sudden plunge, making Allen open his eyes wide open, taking in the wind blowing through his hair, rubbing across his heated face.   
Increasing speed, the train took an inversion and Allen was upside down, lump in his throat and stomach churning, thrill coiling around his insides, inducing a laugh, fresh and breathy, to emit from his lips. The noise thumped into his ears, filling him of nothing but his friends’ voices besides him and the cold air against him, a light rush that made him look at the sky for a moment, see all the stars and realise that he was smiling a little, conscious, that he still  _ existed  _ but wasn’t really alive.    
  
He was sinking.   
  
But he wasn’t there.   
  
And everything around him was moving but he couldn’t catch up, and was trapped in a state between a deep anxiety and a terrible lightheadedness.    
  
Suddenly, the sky was heavy above him and he was weightless, the stars only a tiny sparkle smothered by that cloak of dark, slivers of reality he caught as his eyes slipped half-shut, flickering lashes tickling his cheek.   
  
It was endless but it came to an end when he acknowledged that nothing was ever really over. His head was spinning, dizzy, guts tied into tight knots, brain scrambled in undefined thoughts. And he was laughing. He was laughing but his laughter was detached from himself, his corners were curled in a gladdened expression but his body was motionless, his heart paused, and no glimpse of that joy lingered in his inner sensations.   
  
The train returned to the starting point and Allen could finally see the relief in Lavi’s face, the subtle calmness in Lena’s eyes, how Kanda and Alma held hands as the man unbuckled the belts and made the group hop off the car.    
  
“Never again,” Lavi declared, forehead covered in thick drops of sweat. “ _ Never. _ ”   
  
“It was your idea, Lavi,” Lena reminded, giving him a condescending pat on the back. “Don’t be so dramatic. It wasn’t that bad.”   
  
“It wasn’t,” Allen agreed and laughed softly as Lavi sulked, “are we going to eat something now? I think Lavi needs it.”   
  
“I want cooked apples!” Alma intervened blithely, catching up with Lavi and Allen’s steps. Kanda looked away, scowled, grunted something and pushed Alma towards a stand selling all types of pastries, a vision that made Allen’s mouth water. Doughnuts, slices of cake, cotton candy, cooked apples.    
  
Allen dashed towards the stall, heart bursting in delight at the million options to choose from, be it doughnuts with pink glaze, the soft-looking cotton candy, and deliberately decided to ignore the value of money only to buy  _ all  _ of that.   
  
Only as a hand rested on his head and a soothing, rich-like-velvet voice brushed from behind him, whispering so conceitedly, so triumphantly that, “I found you, boy,” that he turned around to meet the source of that low cadence, facing Tyki in all his height and his smug smile, appearing from nowhere and beating him to his own game.   
  
“Don’t sneak up on me like that,” Allen gritted his teeth, pushing him off himself with false reluctancy,  _ hating  _ that Tyki laughed, barely offended, and anticipated him as he took out his walls, handed two notes to the cashier and said, “three of those, please,” pointing at the pink doughnuts.    
  
“Who said I only wanted three doughnuts?” Allen countered, crossing his arms at his chest, trying not to stare at Tyki’s forearm and the sinuous movements of his fingers as they handled the money. Or how the black coat he wore framed his broad shoulders.    
  
Allen wanted to slap him for how beautiful he looked as he gave the sweets to him, peeping-hot and deliciously adorned. “It’s only the main course, boy,” the man informed, leather wallet back into the pocket of his black trousers as he turned around, matching Allen’s friends.   
  
“Uh,” Allen said, biting the inside of his cheek. A bit nervous, perhaps, because it felt like introducing someone special to his friends and Tyki wasn’t  _ that  _ special and Allen was slightly embarrassed but Tyki was smiling and he was gorgeous, “this is Tyki. Met him at the centre,” which was something he’d have preferably avoided to say but he wanted to be honest for once. “Uh, and these are my friends. Lavi, Alma, Lena, and that one,” a snicker, “is a problematic asshole. Kanda.”   
  
“That’s not a way to treat a friend, rude boy,” Tyki countered, so fond and so amused and Allen liked the way he  _ smiled,  _ constantly and inevitably, making fun of life itself in all its fatuous coincidences.    
  
“I’m not his fucking friend,” Kanda growled, “not friend of a stupid beansprout.”   
  
“Beansprout?” Tyki repeated, confused.   
  
“My name is Allen,” Allen snapped at Kanda, hands clutching the doughnuts, carefully wrapped in paper.   
  
Tyki chuckled lightheartedly and Allen noticed how he waited before asking, “want to come with me for a while, boy?” in front of his friends, unapologetically, low and fond and private, suggesting a sensual intimacy, permeating into Allen’s veins.   
  
“Uh,” Allen looked at Lavi, exchanged a mutual understanding with him.    
  
“We’ll wait at the entrance,” Lavi reassured, smiling tender and supportive and...specifically alluring.   
  
“Okay,” Allen said, “see you later,” and hugged Lena and Lavi and Alma, gave a crooked grin at Kanda and joined Tyki when they turned around and merged into the crowd, leaving Allen alone with the man and with pain in his heart.   
  
Tyki buried his hands into the pockets of his coat and eyed him with an attractive smile, walked besides him and chuckled as to say something but waited instead, probing Allen’s actions. And Allen ignored him, even if it was  _ heartbreaking  _ to tear his gaze off him, taking a big bite of the doughnut. Tyki’s voice caressed him like expensive silk, washed over him like mulled wine and, as smooth as butter, emerged from all the noise and the music and the laughter, “I win, boy.”   
  
“The first and last time you do,” Allen alerted, mouth full of pink glaze, swallowing bite after bite. The doughnuts were delicious, Tyki was by his side and he felt a strange sense of coquetry. A bit nervous, chewing on his lip and fluttering heartbeat, short breaths and eyes wet. “There are too many people,” he argued, and his argument wasn’t reasonable to him, when all he thought of was Tyki. Not the drugs. “How could I have found you?”   
  
“But I did,” Tyki defended amicably, placing his arm around Allen’s hip. “I searched for you,” he said, low and fond, and his unoffended sensuality provoked Allen’s subtle guilt. As if avoiding Tyki was a crime, a regret. Because the man yearned for Allen’s company and pulled him to himself, walking by his side and buying doughnuts for him just like he’d bought those pancakes. And every time he managed to make Allen smile. Most of the time, however, Allen felt hot and weird, wanting to push him away and be pulled back to him.   
  
“Maybe you cheated,” Allen countered, head at the height of Tyki’s shoulder as the man held him by the hip, leading him with slow, lazy steps, “ _ maybe  _ you were following me from the start.”   
  
“Or I was looking carefully,” Tyki replied snarkily, gentle fingers grasping his hip, feeling him up and craving him and Allen felt  _ wanted,  _ appreciated. He hated it. Hated Tyki’s games, his deep voice, the sarcasm at the tip of his tongue as he whispered, “and I made myself hard to notice.”   
  
Scoffing, Allen looked up at him and smiled, sexy and purportedly provocative.    
  
Beguiled.   
  
“I don’t think that’s possible,” he remarked, tongue slick and pink as he took the last mouthful of the pastry, just so he could do something with his teeth and ignore the pleasant warmth pooling in his abdomen, a vague uneasiness settled at his chest, mind giddy as he tried his best to frame those moments and taste their significance, even if illusory.   
  
He was  _ happy. _ _  
_ _  
_ He knew nothing about Tyki, except that he was a drug addict and probably shared his same depravity. Did he have coke in his pocket? Would he snort it off Allen’s body, lick it up, make him high and fuck him senseless in a secluded corner of the city? Did he have pills,  _ anything  _ that could make him lewd and wanton so he could blame the drugs afterwards?   
  
They were close and Tyki was smiling at him, carrying him around as if the boy was something to be  _ seen,  _ worth of being looked at, containing a rare intrigue everybody had to be lured in. Tyki saw through him, his hand velutinous and elegantly broad on his hip, physique sturdy and firm, chiseled dark porcelain. Eyes that saw through the layers of Allen’s clothes, exposing him to nothing but a rotten, irreparable mistake.   
  
Allen was a mess.   
  
“No, it’s possible,” Tyki retorted playfully, “stealth and disguise is what you need when you have to steal stuff from the store at midnight,” he confessed mischievously and simply, the sneaky smile that he had on his face making all the things he said sound not so bad, and certainly not so  _ illegal.  _   
  
Allen laughed and it was crystalline and crisp, refreshing the warmth in his chest and loosening the bundle at his throat. “You are a pickpocket,” he said explicitly, pale eyebrows raised in tricky challenge, “but you’re bad at poker?”   
  
“Hey,” Tyki smirked, quickly defending himself with, “we’ve only played once,” and his smile grew cockier and wider as he offered, sultrily and privately, “I think I can ask for a rematch, mh?”   
  
Allen shrugged, facing that smile with an equally complacent grin. “If you like to lose.”   
  
“Definitely not,” Tyki affirmed teasingly, “also,” leaning down to whisper something into Allen’s ear, steps faltering until their feet came to an halt and Allen was into his arms, Tyki cupped the back of his nape and said, “you won the first time.  _ I  _ won the second time.”   
  
“Are you so sure?” Allen asked, chin held up, his grin an inch away from Tyki’s, aching to press it against his and catch that tongue between his lips, sucking it, kissing him. So he murmured a taunt across Tyki’s soft mouth, looked into his eyes, pulled away from his embrace, “maybe letting you win was my strategy.”    
  
Offering a coquettish look, Allen  _ loved  _ how Tyki sprang his eyes open before exhaling an impressed chuckle. “I wouldn’t put it past you,” he admitted, letting his hand slip from off Allen’s nape to let it rest on his side, “but I wouldn’t underestimate myself either,  _ boy. _ ”   
  
Snickering devilishly, but entirely,  _ profoundly  _ amused and successfully distracted, Allen teased, “I wouldn’t dare, really,” and poked the sleeve of the man’s coat, their hands brushing softly as they walked again side by side.    
  
All the lights enhanced Tyki’s features, from the brightness of his rapacious irises to the plushness of his upper lip, plump and beautiful and inviting. And the moment was perfect and enjoyable and Allen was laughing so much, tilting his head to the left and to the right to look at every tiny detail surrounding him, just so he could prove that life could be delightful and that he was still human, still  _ feeling. _ _  
_ _  
_ Even if he knew that it wouldn’t last.   
  
And Tyki,  _ Tyki _ , powerful and mesmerising and quick-witted, took Allen’s hand into his own and intertwined their fingers together, transmitting some of his warmth to his freezing skin.    
  
As though phasing through people, Tyki swiftly led them out the crowd and caressed Allen’s knuckles with his thumb. And softly, so softly (which made Allen’s heart melt in a mesh of emotions) his smile grew, sophisticated and knowing and charismatic. It was almost like he belonged to another time, another era. With his tight dark curls and brown, sun-kissed skin, cigarettes and tobacco and old cologne, he was an exotic beauty in a dull world.    
  
A suffused, suave sound reached their ears. Allen noticed a young man with a saxophone and absolutely no one to listen to him.  [ The music ](https://youtu.be/L_iH3teasco) was soft, refined, nostalgic. His chest was filled with love. Tyki held his hand, tighter than ever, and they stopped in front of the musician. The man had a smile stretched around the mouthpiece of the instrument, performing strange grimaces at the intense, passionate melody of the song.    
  
They were the only ones who were listening and the lights around them were pink, purple and all shades of bright red, wonderful, sensual sax playing only for them in a dim secrecy.    
  
When Allen cast a glance at him for a short second, he realised that Tyki had been looking at him the whole time. Moonlight melding into sunray, they looked at each other for an infinite time before Tyki’s lips rested at the tip of his pretty nose, printing the softest kiss.    
  
And it hurt him, deeply and wondrously.    
  
Tyki smiled at him, laying his eyes upon the saxophonist and wrapping his arm around Allen’s back, letting the boy lean his head against his shoulder, cheek rubbing against the fabric of his coat. They listened acutely, focusing on the wistful rhythm, the evocative cadence. It made Allen want to close his eyes, even for just a little. But there was a stinging fear in him, that of seeing all the beauty disappear, facing the realisation that it was all just a dream. If he closed his eyes he knew he’d waste the moment away, the memory would fade in a set of mechanisms bigger than him.   
  
And he didn’t want it to last.   
  
He didn’t want to  _ forget. _ _  
_ _  
_ He wanted to remember Tyki and the music and the festival  _ and  _ his friends. Couldn’t let go of the deceitful ghost of happiness, of his young age and all the things that time would inexorably ravage.   
  
The song faded progressively, Allen gave a big smile at the young man and fetched a coin from his pocket to drop it in his hat. Tyki waved a hand at him, arm around Allen’s shoulders as they proceeded down the square, side by side, looking up at the colourful Ferris wheel at the end of the street.    
  
Tyki chuckled, full of affection and amusement. “What about a ride, boy?” he gestured towards the big wheel, then added flirtatiously, “just the two of us.”   
  
“Is that an invitation to fuck me in the cabin?” Allen satirized, showing white teeth as a grin pulled at the corners of his mouth.    
  
“Do you think I’d spoil the surprise, boy?” Tyki teased back, sneakily. He leaned down to press a kiss to the crown of Allen’s head, giggling wholeheartedly as they reached the park, the huge Ferris Wheel standing tall and decorated in the middle of the cut grass.   
  
“No, you wouldn’t. You’d ensnare me and push me against the glass when I least expect it,” Allen purred tantalisingly.   
  
“Oh, I’d do so much  _ more, _ ” Tyki provoked, breathy and alluring. “But it’s no fun if I tell you,” he explained cleverly, spirited and fun and always knowing what to say, “I should let you  _ imagine. _ ”   
  
And he did, he did, he did, and all he wanted was for Tyki to put his hands on his hips and pound into him, make Allen’s smaller body disappear between his big, muscular arms. 

“How?” Allen inquired, batting his eyelashes. Tyki laced their fingers together and Allen realised just how tiny and pale his hand was into the man’s. 

Tyki brought their joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of Allen’s, breath ghosting across his fingers, voice dangerous and rich and husky, “you’ll find out.”

As the previous turn came to an end, all the passengers got out the cabins, lights shifting from red to blue, from yellow to green. Sharing excited laughter, they went into one empty capsule in fervent expectancy. Allen interrupted the interlace of their fingers to press his hands against the glass, staring contentedly at the city spreading below him, progressively smaller as the door closed and the new ride started. 

He could feel Tyki stand behind him, predatory. Allen’s sight was attracted to the tiny details of the city, so small and far and bright. It felt like floating above the ground, supported by nothing but creaking steel. It was a sensation he’d long forgotten. Once he’d been a little kid clinging to Mana’s hand, leaping enthusiastically as they wandered by the stands, eating all the candy and singing every song.

He had been innocent once. Stainless and pure.

Overcome with a terrible, beautiful sadness, Allen gazed over his shoulder. Tyki smiled, as if understanding, and embraced him from behind, arms around Allen’s belly. Reassured that he was still there, Allen looked in front of himself, fingertips smearing nervous imprints against the glass.

Tyki took one of his hands and placed it around his own, so that he was holding him from behind and Allen’s fingers were on his hands, so strangely sentimental, so painfully wholesome. 

Allen was shivering as Tyki collected his white hair into his fist, moving it carefully over one shoulder. Slick lips landed on his exposed neck, plastering his trembling skin in ticklish, tender kisses. Allen relaxed into his touch, teeth catching his lower lip, adrenaline rushing through his veins to his head. 

He smelled Tyki’s perfume and the tobacco in his careful breath, prickling his fragile neck. The smack of his kisses was wet and arousing, loud in the silence of their cabin and their wordless intimacy. Tyki was drawing indefinite circles as he trailed his tongue across his skin, lips glued to him in slow, deep kisses.

The city lights gleamed into his eyes and Allen threw his head back, pink tongue peeking out to lick his dry lips, pleasured sighs vanishing against the glass as Tyki sucked a bruise on his jugular, marking him, claiming him, assaulting him. It was both tender and possessive at the same time; Allen loved how it made him feel. Liked that the idea of being trapped in an anonymous cabin of a gigantic Ferris wheel scared him. Liked that Tyki could take advantage of him if he wanted to.    
  
_ Adored  _ that Tyki’s essence stuck to his jacket, that he’d smell and feel him when he’d be home and alone in his room.   
  
Hot tongue dissipating the cold, Tyki’s arms were around him and his solid chest was pressed against his back, nose brushing through his smooth hair in a reverential caress, as if enclosed in light, ethereal feathers.   
  
_ I should let you imagine. _ _  
_ _  
_ With his humid kisses, his teeth grazing across his pulsating vein, words rolling off his tongue like enthralling seductions.   
  
_ You’ll find out. _ _  
_ _  
_ There were no drugs and no bad thoughts and Allen expected something negative to happen, because that was the natural course of his life. Once he’d savoured the joy of life with a father to love him and a safe home the world would tear it apart, driving them both to a maze of insanity. And coke would feel good, so good, but it would destroy his life and his relationships, would fuck up his system and unleash the monster he’d always been.   
  
Naturally, Allen had to break his heart before Tyki contemplated to anticipate him.   
  
“What,” he whispered quietly, the sound of his own voice reaching him in hurtful consciousness, uncertainty lingering at the tip of his tongue as he stared at some point in front of himself, not the city, not the sky, lost in the weight and the unsecurity of his words, “what do you want out of this, Tyki?”   
  
“What do you mean?” Tyki asked patiently, tracing a line of kisses from Allen’s neck to a spot behind his ear.    
  
Allen let out an exasperated sigh, more out of his own incapacity than Tyki’s questions. “I mean,  _ this, _ ” he gestured towards Tyki’s arms, looped around his stomach, then let his own hands rest on his. He talked the only way he could talk to express himself without uncovering his weaknesses, “do you want to have sex with me, Tyki?”   
  
He felt Tyki inhale for a short moment, then felt the shape of his smile against his earlobe. “I want whatever comes our way,” he exclaimed spontaneously, bending his body so he could place his chin atop Allen’s shoulder and nuzzle in the crook of his neck, taking in the wonderful view of the city. “Whatever feels natural,” he went on, the tip of his nose brushing Allen’s neck, “whatever makes us feel good,” then he softly pulled away, came by the boy’s side and met his thoughtful eyes, “whatever makes  _ you  _ feel good, it is alright with me,” and smiled so unapologetically.    
  
Then, eventually, “I want to have sex with you,” smoothing a hand across Allen’s face, brushing a rebellious strand of hair out his face and behind his ear, “only when the time is right.”   
  
Unable to handle how considerate Tyki was, Allen avoided to meet his eyes and chuckled quietly, bitterly, because there was reason to believe that he was being honest. Even though...he could have undressed him if he wanted to. He could have forced Allen to suck his cock after that pancake date,  _ could  _ have abandoned him in bed with a cruel smile. But he didn’t.    
  
He didn’t, and Allen hated him for it.   
  
Because it would have been so much easier than dealing with his sweet provocations, his sharp irony, his handsomely lax attitude.   
  
He hated him so much that he wanted to bury his face into his hands and run away from him where he couldn’t be able to see the smile that curled his lips and the flush that blossomed on his cheekbones. “I hate you,” Allen finally declared, half-laughing. “I fucking hate you,” he continued, and Tyki smiled so smugly that Allen wanted to grip his curls and kiss him to stop him from saying all those tender things. “I,” he muttered abashedly, frowning nervously with all the anticipation and the warmth in his chest, “you’re confusing me.”   
  
“Don’t think too much about it,” Tyki said dryly. He cupped Allen’s cheek, rolling his fingertip on his gracious eyebrow. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t enjoy talking to you, boy.”   
  
“Or is it because you’re lonely?” Allen asked, fixating his big, grey eyes on Tyki. The man’s smile was mysterious, one the boy couldn’t really read, fraught with countless secrets. He was dangerous, so sensual and so dangerous.   
  
“Do people have to be lonely,” Tyki whispered quietly, curling a lock of Allen’s hair around his fingertip, “to enjoy someone’s company?”   
  
Parting his lips, the voice died at the back of Allen’s throat. And his smile, sad and crooked, was the reflection of Tyki’s grin. “I don’t know,” he concluded ultimately. Looking away, he focused on the soothing touch of Tyki’s fingers through his hair and on his face, “I haven’t felt alive in a really long time.”   
  
_ But I come alive when you look at me, when you talk to me, when you tell me what’s on your mind. _ _  
_ _  
_ _ I am alive when I’m with you. _ _  
_ _  
_ Allen’s smile decayed softly.    
  
“Do you think being lonely indicates hopelessness, Tyki?” Allen let the question hang silent between them, glad that Tyki was touching him, caressing his cheek, soothing his scalp. The man looked at him for a long second, sharp gaze pointed at him and yet  _ through  _ him. Because they were the same kind of mess.    
  
“It means that you can’t find yourself in others,” Tyki evaluated quietly, running his thumb across Allen’s lower lip, “which is not inherently bad. It makes you different,” tapping the tip of his finger on his Cupid’s bow, “special, if you want.”   
  
“Do you think you’re special,” Allen asked curiously, the pitch of his voice slightly higher as he mouthed his name, “Tyki?”   
  
“I have my own peculiarities, yes,” Tyki taunted, dropping his hand back to his side, “whether they are positive or not.”   
  
As the city grew nearer to them, Allen chuckled sweetly, seizing the moment before it would end, carrying all their shared secrets away. So he wrapped his arms around Tyki’s neck, put himself on his toes and pressed their lips together, moving them in a slow, longing kiss. Tyki held the back of his head, unoccupied hand at his thin waist, pulling him close. Mouth opening wantonly, the air between them was filled with Allen’s sweet noise as Tyki lavished his lips with his tongue, kissing him deeply and carefully.   
  
[ Tyki ](https://youtu.be/Bag1gUxuU0g) smiled into their kiss, ravished his mouth in the space they shared in the cabin, permeated by nothing but their quiet gasps and the slick contact of their lips. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured like a secret into Allen’s mouth, opening his eyes with feather-like elegance. Smiling because nothing could put a man like him down. Because he was sarcastic and fun and Allen couldn’t stop kissing him. Couldn’t stop moaning when Tyki kissed him again, tilting his head to the side to deepen the exchange and let his tongue dive deep into Allen’s pliant mouth.   
  
Allen replied as fiercely, biting Tyki’s upper lip while the man flattened his tongue across his lower one, raising his fingers up Allen’s torso to grab his pretty face into his hand. Pulling his black curls, Allen kissed him lovingly, hanging desperate onto him even as Tyki secured him, never allowing their lips to part until they were both speechless.   
  
No one kissed him like Tyki did. No one had ever truly looked at him or taken time to have a conversation with him.    
  
Tyki wasn’t good. But he knew.  _ He  _ knew what addiction felt like.   
  
He had experienced the same powerlessness. The abstinence that would keep him awake at night, corroding him from the inside and torturing him with deadly desires. Making his head explode, his beauty degrade.   
  
Tyki kissed him, kissed him, kissed him, the bruising touch of his hand at his jaw, exploring his mouth with wet brushes of his tongue, making him burn to a cinder. Initiating the kiss and ending it, he pulled away to press a smiling peck to Allen’s warm forehead.    
  
As soon as the boy was caged into his arms the rotation of the wheel faltered and they were at a normal height. The door opened and Allen almost ran from his cozy embrace and out the cabin, lips slick with Tyki’s saliva and head muzzy with enthusiasm, finally finding stable ground under his feet.    
  
A cold air seeped through his jeans jacket, sending shivers down his spine. He was  _ alive _ . He felt the wind in his veins and the excitement in his heart, awakened from a distant slumber.   
  
And it wasn’t the coke.   
  
For the first time in months, it really, really wasn’t the  _ coke _ .   
  
When Tyki caught up with him, Allen turned around to pull him down and give him a hot kiss, sucking on his lower lip. Snickering because if Tyki wanted him to imagine the things he’d do to him Allen would do the same with his lips and tongue and nails scraping across Tyki’s nape.   
  
He was in control of the kiss, losing himself in the silk of the man’s tongue, long and soft and slightly rugged with all the cigarettes he smoked. Kissing him as they stood a few meters away from the Ferris wheel, thinking of nothing but the kiss and how good it felt to have someone to cherish, even if it was just a game.    
  
They could have gotten high together. The idea alone made Allen’s heart twist and flutter, giving in to his destructive vice one more time, one  _ last  _ time.   
  
It was an evil thought, and a spurring one at that.   
  
Allen broke the kiss, trying to dispel that fantasy. Tyki reached into his pocket, picked two cigarettes from his red Marlboro box, held one up for him as he offered, “want to sit somewhere and smoke with me?”   
  
“You want to keep me with you all night, Tyki?” Allen scoffed. “Oh, and I already have my own.”   
  
“Oh? You smoke a lot, boy?” Tyki looked extremely curious, and Allen didn’t know how to feel about that, but he decided that it was kind of cute, considering Tyki’s smile, then absolutely sexy as he brought the cigarette to his kiss-swollen lips, lighting it.   
  
“Sometimes,” Allen said vaguely.    
  
“I like that,” Tyki snickered, pressing his lips around the filter to take a long drag. “So why don’t you sit with me, mh? Five more minutes?”   
  
“Noooo,” Allen laughed tenderly as Tyki pulled him to his chest, sliding his free hand into the back pocket of his jeans, softly groping his ass. “Nooo, I should go, really,” he protested with a giggle interrupting his speech, looking up at Tyki with a fake pout, “my friends are waiting for me.”   
  
“Uh, if that’s the case,” Tyki surrendered with a grin, resting a ticklish smooch to the boy’s nose, “I wouldn’t want them to think I kidnapped you, boy.”   
  
“Even though I’m certain you would,” Allen replied sarcastically. Tyki released him, laugh smothered quietly as he put the cigarette back between his lips, blowing the cloud of smoke in slow puffs.   
  
“Who knows. I’m letting you go for  _ now _ ,” he whispered in all his carefree eroticism, hollowing his cheeks to suck the smoke in deeper. “Call me when you want to, boy.”   
  
It was physically  _ draining  _ to keep his distance from Tyki and not run away with him on a distant land, travelling in cars and long highways without a destination in sight. But he’d meet him again, he would, he would, because Tyki  _ wanted  _ to see him and Allen died to get high with him. He should have stayed away from a drug addict like him, really. He should have clarified that nothing was intended, that they were simply filling the emptiness of their hearts with another human’s warmth.   
  
Ironically, Allen wasn’t particularly attracted to healthy choices.   
  
Tyki stole another quick kiss from his lips, thumb at the filter of the Marlboro. Heat in his stomach, Allen granted him one last yearning glance before making for the main square. Disappearing into the crowd, he was burning with desire and an unbearable sentimalism. Tyki’s kisses lingered on his lips, irresistible and so, so fucking  _ pleasant.  _ As he fought back the urge to look behind him and check if Tyki was still there, Allen accelerated his steps and reached his friends at the entrance of the festival.    
  
Lavi was the first to notice him, smiling fondly and reassuringly. “Al,” he said affectionately, words unspoken communicating an eternal tenderness, a silent understanding. Of course his observant eye landed on the hickey Tyki had carved on Allen’s neck; a mischievous grin made his lips twitch ever so slightly, an explicit question in his look.    
  
“I know. It’s complicated,” Allen responded secretively, and instantly gave in to Lavi’s friendly care when the other patted his back, then wrapped an arm around his shoulders.   
  
Kanda, Alma and Lena turned their heads towards him, all smiling except Kanda. Without a word, Alma hooked his arm under Allen’s, held Kanda’s hand with the other, let Lena wrap her arm by Kanda’s other side. The strain of his face made Allen realise that he’d been smiling for so long, which...was refreshing, to him, to his friends, to his entire life.    
  
Sharing laughs and bickering, they jumped in Lavi’s car, sitting close next to one another to make enough space for everyone (well, Alma quickly decided to sit on Kanda’s lap to solve the problem and it was...clever, really, but mostly embarrassing for Kanda, apart from giving him an aching boner). Allen smiled to himself, checking his phone more than he normally would have, just in case he received a text from  _ someone.  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sometimes i come back...hope you enjoyed! also thx for your comments! i appreciate that a lot!

**Author's Note:**

> ok so this is going to be a painful ride,,,this is a very personal story and i hope you enjoyed the first chapter. i love this type of dynamic and i feel like tyki and allen are easy preys to addiction...let me know what you think in the comments <3


End file.
